


Looking Through You

by allwaswell16



Series: Looking Through You [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Louis, Boys Kissing, Co-workers, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Famous Harry, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, London, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Non-Famous Louis, Oral Sex, POV Multiple, Pining, Popstar Harry, Producer Louis, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Songfic, Songwriter Louis, Songwriting, Touring, is it too late for that tag now? lol, side Ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-20 11:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10661328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allwaswell16/pseuds/allwaswell16
Summary: Just as Louis and Liam were starting out in the music industry, writing and producing for up and coming artists, a fateful meeting with new pop singer Harry Styles changes everything. Four years later, just as Harry is set to embark on his next world tour, a drunken confession causes a rift between once inseparable friends. As Harry tries to make sense of his feelings for Louis, he begins writing his next album to express them as it may be the only way to break through the walls that Louis has built between them.Written for Big Bang Round 5





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The incredible art was made by my amazing friend [ melmanpur](http://melmanpur.tumblr.com/) ! Silvia, you made this the absolute best experience I could ever have asked for! You're amazing! Thank you! <3<3<3
> 
> As this is a fic about songwriters, at the end of each chapter are the song credits for the song(s) referenced in that chapter in case you're wondering about a particular song whilst reading. [Here is a Spotify playlist of all the songs with a few others that inspired the fic.](https://open.spotify.com/user/all_was_well_16/playlist/0rwuaCFhgXu0vrm7PnFyPg)
> 
> More specific thank yous at the end, but I'm very grateful to my beta [taggiecb](http://archiveofourown.org/users/taggiecb/works) for holding my hand as always, [yousopugly](http://yousopugly.tumblr.com/) for Brit picking and betaing, and [ Jacky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackstylinson/pseuds/Jackstylinson/works) and [Molly](http://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickedWeen/pseuds/QuickedWeen/works) for also betaing the fic when I was done with the first draft and giving me suggestions that I hope I did justice. (Yes, I had four betas. I WAS NERVOUS.) <3
> 
> The title comes from The 1975 song "Somebody Else," which was a major inspiration for this fic. I went to a The 1975 concert and left dreaming of an angsty Larry fic.

 

_Three years ago..._

As the hired car drives them to their hotel, Harry lets the humid air fill his lungs as his sunnies shade his eyes from the rays of the bright Barcelona sun pouring through the windows. He grins and turns to Louis. Louis’ blue eyes shine with excitement right back at him.

“Oii, oii!” Louis shouts as they reach the incredible view of the Mediterranean Sea and the half-moon glass monstrosity that is their very posh hotel. “Jesus, H! Didn’t know your hotel was right on the beach!”

“I didn’t know either,” Harry insists as men quickly take their bags and escort them into the hotel. Harry’s phone buzzes with a call from his new PA. “Hi, Jacky! Yeah, we just got here! It’s incredible. Damn. Thank you for this.” He spins nearly in a circle to admire the lobby before Louis’ hand steadies him and reaches the small of his back, leading him towards the elevator. He lets Louis guide him into it and presses the floor number. “Okay, I’ll let you know if we need anything.” He hangs up as Louis walks him down the hallway to their room.

Since the men with their bags have yet to arrive, they don’t feel the need to contain themselves. Harry lets out a loud shout as he bounces across the large king sized bed in front of the wall of windows overlooking the sea. Louis kneels on the long narrow chaise lining the windows and plasters his palms to the glass, arms spread wide. Harry admires the view, the curve of Louis’ back that leads to quite a spectacular bum. Harry rolls off the bed and smacks Louis’ bum playfully before settling next to him on the chaise. “What should we do first?”

“Don’t know,” Louis answers. “But I’m glad we get to stay here for a few days. Tomorrow will be busy for you what with sound check and promo and the concert.” Louis jumps up from the chaise and starts exploring the room as Harry watches him with a smile plastered across his face.

Louis climbs into the large soaking tub standing against a mirrored wall in the main bedroom. “What the hell is the bathtub doing in here?” He laughs, eyes crinkling in the corners.

“So everyone from the beach can admire my dick through the windows as I get out of the bath,” Harry pretends to swing his dick around in a circle, and Louis laughs, just as they hear a knock sound at the door. Harry lets the bags in and hands over some cash as Louis waves to the men cheekily from the tub.

As soon as they’re gone, Louis climbs out of the tub and starts rummaging through his suitcase. “Let’s go to the beach!” Louis pulls out a pair of blue swim shorts with turtles and waves them around. “Ha! Look which ones I brought!”

“Fuck me, I did, too!” Harry rummages through his suitcase, looking for his own.

Louis bursts out laughing. “You didn’t! We’ll look like complete wankers in matching shorts, Hazza.”

“Don’t care,” Harry declares as he dramatically pulls his own purple version from his suitcase.

Harry dumps out his carry on bag and haphazardly throws a few towels and beach gear into it before they race down the hallway, down the elevator, and out of the hotel to the beach. They find a few unoccupied beach chairs and sprawl across them as Harry sighs deeply at the feeling of the warm sun heating his body. He glances over at Louis who is already looking back at him.

“Should probably put on some suncream, yeah?” Louis asks.

“Probably. Do my back and shoulders?” Harry sits up and turns away from him as he hears Louis open the bottle with a snick. Harry waits for the feeling of cool lotion and Louis’ fingertips, but it doesn’t come. He glances over his shoulder and sees Louis paused and staring at his back. “Gonna get sunburned if you keep ogling me, Lou.”

“Ah, fuck off. Vain, much?” Louis asks as he begins slapping sunscreen across his back as Harry cackles loudly. His fingertips eventually slow down on Harry’s back, making sure to cover every inch of skin. As they pass over his lower back and near the top of his shorts, Harry shivers a bit at the soft touch. “There. Done.” Louis says a bit hoarsely before he lays back down on his front. “Now, do me.”

Harry dutifully spreads suncream across Louis’ back and shoulders, and then carefully coats the lean muscles of the back of Louis’ arms before moving down to his calves.

“Mate, I can reach there myself,” Louis says, his voice muffled.

Harry shrugs even though Louis can’t see him. “Might as well.”

Louis naps as Harry writes out an itinerary in his journal for their free day in Barcelona. The list is far too long, but he’ll just have Louis pick which things they should do from it. Then, they can do all the others when they come back someday. In fact, they should come back after tour is over. Go on a real holiday here. He nudges Louis with his foot. “Lou? We should come back here. Have a holiday.”

Louis murmurs his assent. “Sure, Hazza. I’m in. You know I am.”

Harry smiles as he lets his every emotion flow through him. Excitement for the concert, pride in the music he’s created alongside his best friend, contentment in being right where he wants to be. He glances back at Louis, the absolute best friend he could ever have hoped for, and he scribbles down a few lyrics. Just a few of the little things he loves best about Louis. Might make a good song.

That night after they’ve lazed by the sea and eaten their fill of tapas at their posh hotel, they curl up in the bed overlooking the Mediterranean. Jacky’s booked them a suite with two beds, but neither of them think to even look at the other one, too used to falling asleep together anyway.

“What are you thinking about, Haz?” Louis asks quietly, tucked into Harry’s side.

“Thinking about tomorrow and the concert. And then the next day that we get to spend together. You wanted to go to that big market, yeah?”

“Yeah, La Boqueria. You can get a coconut juice or summat.” Louis snorts. “Looks cool though I want to see--”

“A whole squid laying out on ice for everyone to see.”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“I dunno. Just knew.” Harry shrugs his shoulder into Louis’ side as Louis combs his fingers gently through his curls. Something catches in the back of Harry’s mind. For a brief moment he wonders about the intensity of their friendship, but then the thought slides away again as Louis’ deft fingers lull him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song reference: 
> 
> Little Things (One Direction)-Harry has the very beginnings of this song while thinking about Louis as he lies on a beach chair.


	2. Chapter 2

Louis watches the swirls of smoke from his cigarette rise into the London night as he leans up against the brick wall of the terrace. This is where Harry finds him. They’re lucky it’s unseasonably warm for late March. All of the people invited to Harry’s going-away-on-tour party would have been cramped inside their local, but it’s just on this side of pleasantly cool out in the garden. Harry plucks the cigarette from his fingers and takes a long drag before tossing it to the ground and crushing it with the heel of a well-worn leather boot.

“What the fuck, mate? I just lit that.” Louis complains.

“That shit will kill you, Lou.”

“Why’d you take a drag then?”

Harry just shrugs and leans back against the brick wall, their shoulders touching. Louis can feel the heat where their shoulders meet. It sends a familiar warmth through his bloodstream. He wonders if science can explain how it is that someone could physically touch such a small part of you and still manage to send electricity shooting through your veins. Not just someone, he reminds himself. Maybe only a certain someone. Maybe what he needs is a drink. He pushes himself off the wall to go get one.

“Wait,” Harry says quietly as he reaches out and grasps Louis’ wrist lightly.

Louis stills. He looks down at the long fingers surrounding his wrist and hopes that Harry can’t feel his pulse pick up a few extra beats. He wonders how long his heart has been betraying him like this. He can’t seem to put his finger on just when it started. He swallows hard, trying to push the butterflies back down his throat. He meets Harry’s eyes, finally, and sees the sadness there.

“I’m gonna miss you, Lou,” he says, the roughness in his voice betraying his emotion. Harry tugs him into a hug, and Louis desperately tries to make it normal. He’s afraid to sink into Harry’s embrace and afraid if he doesn’t, he’ll be caught out.

“Alright, alright, ya saps. Break it up,” Niall says as he appears and squeezes between them. “We’ll see ya in a week at your O2 show. Then you and Lou can have your tearful farewells.” Niall lowers his voice and speaks in an exaggeration of Harry’s voice. “Oh, Lou, whatever will I do without you! I’ll cry every night alone in my bed, dreaming of the day we’ll be reunited!” Niall throws a hand across his forehead. “I think I’m already feverish without you, Louis!”

Zayn walks up as Harry rolls his eyes and says, “Shut it, Niall. I’m not that clingy.”

Zayn lights a cigarette. “Sure you are, but you won’t be alone in your bed on tour anyway. You’ll have whichever girl or boy you pick up after the show, and Lou will finally go out and pull, or you know, go on a date or some shit. No one around to cock block.”

“I don’t—we don’t—not cock blocking,” Louis says defensively.

Zayn blows a stream of smoke in his face. “Right. Like last week when that bloke was chatting up Harry at Ed’s show, and then you just suddenly felt like holding Harry’s hand and saying you both had to get home.”

Louis can feel the heat rising in his cheeks. He hopes the darkness of the terrace disguises it.

“Lou just knew I wasn’t interested,” Harry scoffs. “He was saving me from anything awkward. Right, Lou?”

Louis looks helplessly into Harry’s eyes and hopes that Harry can’t read this thoughts. “Right,” he answers quietly. His eyes dart to Zayn whose face has softened, and he sees a question there that he doesn’t want to answer.

“Round of shots,” Zayn suddenly announces. “Nialler, what are we having?”

“Tequila!”

Zayn slings an arm around Louis’ shoulders as he hauls him back into the pub. “Tequila, it is.” He feels himself relax into Zayn’s side and anticipates the alcohol that will let him forget if he’s lucky.

Niall calls for a round of tequila as they approach the bar. Harry squeezes in next to him and knocks Zayn’s arm off his shoulder to pull Louis’ body against his own. His arm slides around Louis’ back, his fingers pressing firmly into the side of this chest. It’s nothing new really. Their friendship has been possessive from the start if he’s honest. Codependent and possessive. God, why has he never seen how unhealthy this is? Maybe he just didn’t want to see it. He wishes he could unsee it. Just go back to Harry at eighteen and him at twenty when the only thing that they wanted or had time for was music and each other. Why is it that what was once so easy now seems so complicated?

He knocks back the salt rimmed shot and raises a finger at the bartender for another as he sucks the juice from a wedge of lime. As the liquid burns down his throat he thinks about Harry at eighteen, unruly curls and long limbs. He remembers inviting him to sleep on his couch those first months after they met, but it hadn’t been long before he’d decided his bed was big enough for two. He hadn’t thought twice about it then, friends sleeping in the same bed.

He needs another shot. He needs to numb these feelings until Harry is gone. Harry motions for another shot as well. They raise their shot glasses at each other in a silent toast. Just as Louis is about to drink, Harry crowds into him, his nose pressed into his hair, his lips at Louis’ ear. His breath blows hot against his neck, sending goosebumps across his skin.

“Need more salt this time,” he says as he licks a broad stripe up Louis’ neck. Louis isn’t ready for it. Fire burns through him, stronger than any liquor ever could. Harry lets out a loud bark of a laugh as he backs away. Louis knows Harry is going to look to him for a reaction, the usual retaliation of some sort. A disgusted look, a shove, a roll of his eyes. Louis turns away, so he won't see the desire that has ripped through him instead. As soon as Louis turns away he knows he's failing to conceal what needs to stay hidden. He's done it all wrong because he didn't react properly. He didn't react as though it was a joke.

He swallows the shot before he turns around with something that approximates a smile. Harry frowns at him. “Lou? What’s wrong?”

He can see Harry at nineteen, a scarf wrapped around his hair and t-shirts slowly being replaced by printed, unbuttoned blouses. On a real stage for the first time singing ‘Little Things’ with his acoustic guitar and commanding the room with ‘Rock Me,’ his star rising and taking he and Liam along with him. The flat got bigger and had a second bedroom, and still more often than not, if Harry was home he would find Louis’ bed when he couldn’t sleep. 

He meets Harry’s eyes and tries to keep the desperation out of his own. Fuck, this is not good. He’s been keeping his newly discovered feelings buried in the pit of his stomach. Now seems like a terrible time for tequila to be acting as a truth serum. He doesn’t give in to it though. He can’t. He won’t.

The third shot goes down easier than the last two. Harry at twenty comes to him then, curls brushing his shoulders and designer suits. Writing songs together as they dream bigger dreams, arena sized dreams. The flat grew bigger, and Louis’ old furniture had expensive new replacements. Harry would tell people he was happy to be home and writing and sleeping in his own bed for a while. Only Louis knew Harry rarely slept in his own bed. 

And then the fourth shot to forget, Louis thinks to himself as he raises it to his lips. He drinks to forget Harry’s muscled body at twenty-one and long hair reaching over his broad shoulders. The beginnings of unease at Harry’s near constant presence in his bed, Louis leaving extra space between them. He laughs at himself for not understanding that at the time. He’s still laughing at himself when Harry finds him again, and they stumble home, arms wrapped around each other just as they always have. Louis doesn’t remember how many more shots he’s had. He suspects that isn’t a good sign. As they near their flat, the tequila finally wins the battle. “Harry? Why do we live together?”

“’Cause you’re my best mate, Lou. Have been for four years now.” Harry squeezes his arms tighter around him.

“But why?”

Harry laughs. “Why are we friends? Because you took in an eighteen year old idiot who convinced a record label to take a chance on him. And then we wrote a sick album with Liam ‘cause you two are the best producers ever, and the rest is history!”

“But why do we keep living together when you could have bought your own place ages ago?”

Harry’s arms fall back to his side. Louis immediately shivers with the loss of his source of heat. “Jesus, Lou. Do you want me to move out or something?”

“What? No!” Louis exclaims. “Want you to stay. Please stay. Stay forever.”

Harry snorts. “Love, you’re so pissed. But yes, I’ll stay forever. I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

“What if you meet someone on tour?” Louis asks, his voice quiet as they stop in front of their flat.

“Is that what’s been bothering you? Louis, no way I’ll meet someone on tour and want to stop living here. We’re the Dream Team, Lou.”

They stumble up the steps and bang open the door. Louis sinks into the sofa. “No, no. Don’t sit down. You’ll never get back up.” Harry pulls him up off the sofa and leads him into Louis’ bedroom. Louis’ head is already pounding. It’s jumbling his brain into tiny bits that he can’t seem to piece back together. “Need help?” Harry doesn’t wait for an answer and lifts Louis’ t-shirt over his head and kneels down to dispose of his jeans as well.  Louis’ head spins at the sight of Harry kneeling in front of him.

Harry stands and turns him toward the bed, giving a slap to his bum. “Nighty night, Lou.”

Louis feels vulnerable standing clothed only in his pants, but he can’t seem to hold his tongue now that it’s been let loose. He turns to look back at Harry. “Are you going to meet a lot of someones on tour?” He asks quietly.

Harry is watching him with a perplexed expression. “Well, maybe. But none like you. Could never replace you, love, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No, you’re not getting it.” Louis hates the desperation he hears in his own voice. “I don’t want you to sleep with a bunch of someones. We never talk about it. Why don’t you ever sleep with people when you’re home? Why don’t I? I haven’t even kissed someone since you were last on tour.”

“Louis, you’re drunk. Let’s just talk in the morn—“

“I’m in love with you.”

Louis wishes all the alcohol he’s been swimming in wasn’t keeping him from actually watching Harry’s expression. He thinks maybe he sees a flash of surprise on Harry’s face before it shutters against him. “Louis. Love, you’ve had a lot to drink tonight. I think we need to put you to bed.”

///

Harry lies awake long into the night with only the echo of Louis’ words for company.

_I’m in love with you._

He falls into a fitful sleep for a few hours, but he eventually gives in to the notion there will be no rest tonight. He’s used to sleeping in Louis’ bed. He sits up with a groan as he rubs his tired eyes.

_I’m in love with you._

He rises from his bed and creeps through the hallway, careful to miss the squeaky floor boards as he finds his way into the kitchen. He puts the kettle on and fetches a cup from the cupboard. His hands find the edge of the counter as his head bows beneath the weight of the words he’s trying to forget. The whistle startles him, and he quickly tries to whisk the kettle from the heat before the noise can disturb Louis _. _

_I’m in love with you._

He steeps the tea for a few minutes and the words begin to pound behind his eyes, refusing to be suppressed. He takes a sip. It’s too hot and burns his tongue, but he doesn’t care because some perverse notion says he deserves it for not knowing what to do now. He feels the sand beneath his feet shifting, the unsteadiness of the past few weeks twisting in his gut. He’s only now realising why something has seemed so off lately. He stands up without finishing his tea.

_I’m in love with you._

He carefully pads back down the hallway towards Louis’ room. He sits on the edge of Louis’ bed and watches him sleep. Louis looks so young and peaceful like this. More like the Louis he first met. Harry smiles. He’s always thought he and Louis were kindred spirits somehow. How else could he explain that instant connection? As soon as they’d been introduced, Harry just knew. It was like finding a piece of yourself you didn’t even know was missing. They’ve always known that their friendship is special, and it has always felt safe and solid, in perfect balance. Until now. He wants desperately to find his footing, but he doesn’t know how.

_I’m in love with you._

Harry’s head hangs down as he shifts his elbows to his rest on his knees. Louis has brought this change. He’s drunkenly confessed his feelings at the eleventh hour and can’t even talk about it with him.. Harry tries to be angry, but he’s already admitted to himself that he’s known something was off for a while. He has just kept hoping that whatever it was would go away. He’s been busy with rehearsals and finalising the tour, and he didn’t want to bring up something that might just vanish on its own. Resentment and guilt in equal measures rise up in his throat.

_I’m in love with you._

A small snuffling noise and then a moan draws Harry’s attention back to the other person in the bed. A bleary, blue eye peeks at Harry. “Christ, Hazza. What are you doing at the end of my bed like a specter? Bit creepy.”

“Sorry, I was just—do you feel okay? I mean, you had a lot to drink last night so—“

Louis tries to push himself up a bit, but instead, he moans more loudly and plops back in the bed. “Don’t remind me about last night. Or only remind me of the necessary bits because I remember nothing.”

Harry searches his face for a clue that Louis recalls his declaration from last night, but none comes. “Nothing important,” Harry says. He thinks he maybe sees a flash of something cross Louis’ face, but it’s there and gone before he can tell. “Just want to say goodbye. And you know, look at your face before I go.” As soon as he says it, he knows it’s the wrong thing to say. But it’s so hard. A few short weeks ago, he wouldn’t have felt strange at all saying that he would miss Louis’ face. Of course, he’ll miss his face. Louis shifts in the bed without sitting up.

“Will see you in a week, Hazza,” Louis says in a sleep roughened voice.

“Right,” Harry says. “Of course.”

Harry stands and walks stiffly out of Louis’ bedroom. Louis doesn’t follow. Harry makes coffee, and Louis doesn’t shout out for Harry to make him some tea. Harry makes toast, and Louis doesn’t come steal a piece. Harry fries eggs, and Louis never appears to scoop up half onto a plate. Harry hates how askew this has all become. He tries to rationalise that Louis is extremely hungover or possibly still drunk, but his trepidation never leaves. As he climbs into the hired car, he realises no one is there to say goodbye.


	3. Chapter 3

Liam has been at his flat for an hour and yet Louis hasn’t heard a word he’s said. He lets Liam’s words wash over him as he goes through the motions of dressing himself and fixing his hair and drinking a beer. He’s mentally blocking all thoughts about tonight, and it’s taking all his effort.

“Ready?”

Louis wonders how many times Liam’s asked if he was ready. By the look on his face, at least a few. “Is it time?”

“Yeah, mate. You okay?” Liam’s eyebrows furrow with concern.

“I’m fine.”

The drive across London affords too much time to think. Liam’s uncharacteristically quiet as he finds his way through traffic. He’s probably trying to figure out what’s wrong, but Louis just doesn’t have the energy to deal with it right now. When they reach the tunnel, his heart picks up its pace. He knows they’re close now. He pulls out his phone and types out a text

        _Good luck_

He sends it before he can think about it and instantly regrets it. The text conversation between them is the only contact they’ve had. Louis stares at it. It sounds like a conversation between strangers. He watches the ellipses flash across the screen as he waits for Harry’s reply. He wonders how much he’s texting. It’s taking quite some time to write whatever it is. The ellipses stop without a message. Louis’ heart seems to stop as well. But then they’re back, and there’s a response.

        _Thanks_

Fuck. What had he written and deleted? Louis scrubs a hand over his face. He’s had a week. An entire week to prepare to see him again. A week to let Harry believe Louis doesn’t remember his confession.  A week to get past Harry’s avoidance of it. A week to reinforce the wall around his heart. It’s not working. It’s fine though. He just needs to make it through this night. And then he can get back to the task of getting on with it. With getting over this crush, this longing that has no place in his life. It’s perfect timing really. Harry will be gone for months. Maybe it won’t even take that long. When Harry comes back from tour, this will all be behind them.

They leave the car and head into the venue. A feeling of annoyance with himself flashes through him. His best friend is playing the O2 tonight, and he’s off feeling sorry for himself. Fuck that. Louis glances around as they pass through the main passageways and flash their badges to enter the backstage corridors. He tries his best to be pumped that Harry is on an arena tour, singing songs that they all wrote together. Harry’s first album had been a surprise success, but this second album has solidified that Harry’s no flash in the pan. They’ve been bold. They’ve written songs for this kind of place, songs fitting of an arena. This is the tour to prove Harry’s a rock star.

Liam knocks at the dressing room door, and it swings wide open almost immediately as though someone was awaiting their arrival. Louis looks up as Harry moves past Liam with determination and stalks towards him, the look on his face almost grim in appearance. Louis feels panic rise up through his body, but it’s too late to do anything as Harry crushes him in a bruising embrace. God, it feels so good. He’s missed this boy and his touch. Not just from this week of being apart, but from the weeks since he started pulling away under the guise of letting Harry prepare for the tour. He closes his eyes and returns the embrace, his arms wrapped around Harry’s slender waist.

“Lou. Fuck, can you believe this?”

It’s everything they’ve been dreaming about and working towards for the last four years, and now it’s here. Harry’s here. Instead of the triumph Louis has been dreaming of, he desperately tries to push aside any resentment. Harry finally releases him to hug Liam as Niall bangs through the door with Ed and Zayn, and Louis deflates and backs away. He tries to look anywhere except where he most wants to look, but he’s helplessly drawn back to Harry. His pink tinged lips and flushed cheeks. His waves of hair caressing the curve of his neck where Louis most wants to press his own lips. And then Zayn steps in front of him, and Louis sends a silent thank you for the interruption of his thoughts.

The show is everything they could have hoped for. It’s exhilarating watching Harry shine like this. The way he moves on stage is hypnotic and leaves Louis breathless. He belts out their songs just as Louis knew he could. How did he learn to command an arena of people? He’s only twenty-one for fuck’s sake. He leaves everything he has out on the stage, and Louis is so sure that Harry is made for this. There’s something in the air tonight, a spark. Louis is sure everyone can feel it. He’s sure that if you weren’t in love with Harry Styles before tonight, you are now, but it brings him no comfort to think that he’s just one of many. It brings him no solace to know that Harry will play many places just like this and capture just as many of their hearts as well. But he’ll give none of them a piece of his in return. Just a piece of his body. Just for the night. And Louis won’t even have that much of him.

He ignores the instinct to run away from all this. It’s hard to suppress, but he has to do it. There’s no explanation that would suffice except the truth, and so he pushes through with a practiced smile. There’s press and photographers and friends and family and industry connections, and an after party that rages well into the night. And Louis’ mood only falters once. Harry manages to pull himself away and corners him at the bar. He flashes a smile, his dimples sharing his excitement, as he pulls Louis to a quieter corridor.

“Fuck, Lou. I have to go. Have a flight to Manila in a few hours. Guess I’ll sleep on the plane.” He flashes another grin before he pulls Louis into his arms. Louis stiffens at the contact and then forces himself to relax into him when Harry just holds him more tightly. Harry’s hold constricts his chest until his ability to take a breath is hampered, and Louis croaks out his name as he pushes back from him. “Sorry, Lou,” Harry says with a laugh. “I’m just going to miss you so fucking much, you know? But you’ll come see me? You and the boys. You’ve got my schedule. And you can just tell the label we’re writing and charge it to them!” Harry’s eyes gleam brightly despite the darkened hallway.

“’Course,” Louis says. He tries to sound enthusiastic, but he knows it comes out flat. Harry’s manager appears and ushers him away presumably towards a car ready to take him away.

“Bye, Lou! I’ll call you when I get there!” Harry calls out as he’s led away.

Louis says nothing as he watches him disappear into the night.

///

“You’ve reached Louis Tomlinson’s phone. Leave me a message. Thanks.”

“Hey, Lou. I’m here. In Manila. Fucking tired. I didn’t really sleep well on the plane. Too excited, I guess. Anyway, call me when you get this, you wanker. Might try and take a nap later, but I’ll leave my phone on just in case.”

He’s got some hours to spare before sound check. He doesn’t even bother to change and just collapses on the hotel bed. He lays his phone next to his head in case Louis happens to call. His phone alarm wakes him an hour before sound check, and he notices a text that must have come through as he slept.

        _Glad you made it safely. Hope this text doesn’t wake you. Heading into studio with Ed now. Talk to you later. Good luck !!_

Harry frowns. He wishes it had woken him. He stretches his stiff limbs and grabs a bottled water from the room before he heads down to a waiting bodyguard and driver to take him to the arena. He sees only as much of the city as he can see from the tinted windows of a hired SUV. He downs as much caffeine as he can stomach and manages to make it through sound check before crashing backstage. As he drifts off, he wonders who the hell scheduled this tour and why he didn’t protest.

Thankfully, they don’t wake him until he has to sit in hair and makeup and change his clothes, which he realises he’s been wearing for far too long at this point. He’s in desperate need of a shower really. He eats and sips his tea and thinks of Louis. He wonders what time it is in London. His phone informs him it’s far too late to ring Louis.

As the sounds of the crowd fill the arena, adrenaline streaks through his blood, and it’s the only high he needs to perform tonight. When he comes off the stage, his euphoria remains, and he risks an excited text even though he has no idea what time it is in London. He and the band fall into the SUVs parked outside and let their drivers weave their way through the glaring lights of Manila at night. They find themselves in a crowded club, and he lets a blur of people and music and alcohol swirl around and through him. His phone buzzes in the back pocket of his tight jeans. He squints through his intoxication at his phone that displays a photo of Louis with his eyes crossed, his lips pressed in a line and the words _Tommo Mobile_. He presses accept and stumbles his way towards the loo.

“Lou! Don’t hang up! It‘s loud here, but I’ll go somewhere quieter!” He bangs open the door to the loo and startles a few men inside. “Sorry, Sorry!” He apologises. “Lou, are you still there?”

“Yeah, but Harry, really, I can call back—“

“No! Wait! Don’t call back! Miss you. Want to talk to you.”

“Harry. I just saw you like a day ago.”

“I know, but I haven’t really talked to you in ages, Lou. Why don’t we talk, Lou?”

There’s a pause. And a choked laugh. “Harry. God. I don’t think it’s a good time to talk when you’re drunk at some club. What time is it there anyway?”

“Don’t know,” Harry answers. He presses his back against the wall and closes his eyes. His brain isn’t functioning properly. He’s sleep deprived and tipsy and a bit sad if he’s honest. Louis doesn’t want to talk to him. He remembers there’s a reason, but he can’t think of it. It’s just there out of his reach. “Can’t remember why you won’t talk to me, Lou. I know there’s a reason. I just can’t remember what it is.”

“Harry—fuck. Just call me later, okay? I have to—I have to go now. Go find the guys.”

“Okay, Lou. Love you. You’re my best mate, Lou. Best ever. ”

“Love you, too,” Louis answers him softly before the call ends.

He suddenly remembers why Louis doesn’t want to talk to him. He staggers to a toilet and empties the contents of his stomach into it. His drummer eventually finds him, hunched over in the stall.

“Harry? Fuck, mate. You alright?”

“No,” Harry whimpers.

“Come on then.” Josh hoists him up to lean an arm across his shoulders. He pushes their way through the club and out onto the street where he hails a taxi. Josh gives the driver the name of the hotel as they climb in. He sends a few texts before turning back to Harry. “So are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Got sick in a club. Nothing’s wrong.” Harry stares blankly out the window.

“Mate, you seem gutted. If you don’t want to tell me though, it’s fine.”

“Miss Louis is all.” He doesn’t bother to hide how pathetic it is.

“Christ. You two get more codependent every time I turn around. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two were—you know.”

Harry whips his head around to look at him. “What?”

Josh looks him straight in the eye. “Fucking.”

Harry turns back to stare out the window. “We’re not.”

“I know. Sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“If I were with Louis, it wouldn’t be fucking. He wouldn’t just be a fuck.”

“Do you want to be then?”

“Be what?”

“Do you want to be with Louis and have it not just be a fuck?”

Harry presses his forehead against the cool glass of the window and closes his eyes.

///

Harry wakes the next morning with a hangover and curses himself and the day of press that’s to come. He muddles through as best he can, but there is one interview that lingers in his mind.

“Harry, we quite like your music here in the Philippines. You’ve sold out two shows at the SM Arena. Did you expect to break through here in Asia?”

“I don’t think expect is the right word. I’m very grateful though for my Filipino fans. It’s quite lovely to have such a following here. I only have this one stop in Asia, but I hope the next time I tour I’ll have many more.”

“The songs from your current album seem to have a much bolder sound. They sound like they were written for a purpose. Would you agree?”

Harry flashes a grin. “Yes, my songwriting partners and I wrote with this tour in the back of our minds. We thought about what the songs might sound like in an arena setting. Songs like ‘Midnight Memories’ and ‘Don’t Forget Where You Belong’ and ‘Little Black Dress’ were all written with dreams of singing them live in an arena.”

“How about ‘Alive’?”

“Yes, that one fits in the same category, I’d say.”

“The lyrics in that one are quite suggestive.”

Harry laughs. “Yes, well, I’m not a teenager anymore, so some of the lyrics may reflect that.”

“So is that what your life is like out on the road then? Different women every night?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I’ll just say that a relationship would be hard to maintain when I’m touring. Don’t have much time for anything else.”

“A bit of a commitment phobe then?”

Harry doesn’t care for the insinuation. “No, but my commitments right now are to the music.”

“There are some songs on the album that seem very personal as well - songs like ‘Through the Dark’.”

“Ah, and you’ve accused me of being afraid of commitment, but these songs are inspired by the people in my life I’m very committed to. Just not romantically.”

“Really? Not romantic at all? ‘I will carry you over fire and water for your love.’ Not romantic?”

Harry laughs. “Not romantic. That line was written by one of my songwriting partners—“ Harry trails off. His stomach churns.Fuck. That does sound like it could be more than what he’s always thought. Louis wrote that line. How far back has Louis been harboring feelings for him?

“What about ‘Little Things’? The lyrics in that song sound as though they were written with a very specific person in mind. Is that not romantic?”

Harry tries to get his mind back on the interview. “Well, it’s a love song, but I actually wrote most of it about my best friend and just sort of reworked it into a love song.”

“Wow. Are you sure you’re not in love with your best friend?”

Harry’s mouth hangs open a bit as he stares at the interviewer. “I—no. I mean, they’re just things I’ve always noticed about him, so I just put them in a song.”

“But aren’t they all things that you love about him?” The interviewer chuckles. “I think you’re giving out some mixed signals.”

Harry pales. “What?”

Someone from his management team interrupts. “Okay, Harry. Time to head out.”

Harry thankfully shakes hands before exiting the room. He isn’t really listening, but he catches the gist of the one-sided conversation taking place about how he could be more subtle about his sexuality and mysterious about his lyrics. He just ignores this familiar lecture in favour of examining his own confusion about songs he literally wrote himself. And when he sings them his last night in Manila, they take on new meaning. He’s not sure what to do with that. He can’t think properly though. It’s all mucked up in his head as he’s being shuttled back onto an aeroplane and headed for the rest of the European leg of his tour. He arrives in Berlin in the early morning hours with a day of rest before him. He’s in no state to speak with anyone; he’s exhausted and disoriented. And yet he’s perversely disappointed that Louis hasn’t called. He collapses onto the bed and hopes that now that he’s in Europe for a while his internal clock will reset itself. He puts his phone next to his head just in case.

/// /// ///

“Hey Niall—Yeah, in Amsterdam at the moment—Nah, not good for the voice—Well, you should have come to see me here then—Anytime, mate—Milan sounds good. Can’t wait to see you actually—How’s your album coming?—Louis? Yeah, we keep playing phone tag, I guess—No worries, I’m sure he’s planning on coming to a few—He’s been pretty busy with your album and Ed’s album so—Okay, Ni. See you in Milano, il mi amico.”

///

where you at?

_Eddddddddddd! in vienna I think._

cool. That place is lit.

        _haaaaa yeah think im lit too_

nice. well if you remember this text in the morning I’m coming to the Madrid show. So I’ll see u soon mate

        _yessss can’t wait to see ur beautiful face Edward_

same. Maybe another beautiful face will come too. Spain is like your deal right?

        _Me and lou. Me andlou and spain. Spain an d lou and me. We love spain. me a ndlou_

Right. Okay then. I’ll text u again since u probably won’t remember this

_luv u ed_

back at u

///

 _Beep_.

“Hey, Liam. Got your voicemail. Meeting up in Lisbon sounds great. I’ve got a few songs I’ve been working on, but I definitely need you and Lou to help me figure them out. Maybe we could even record a few. Just call me when you get this and we’ll arrange how to get you both here.”

///

“Zayn! Mate, alright? Been a while!”

“Hey.”

“Ehm. So how’s school? Almost end of term, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice. So how’s Liam? You thinking about coming with him to Lisbon?”

“Nah. School ain’t out yet. I’ll come to a show in June. You’ll still be in Europe then?”

“Yeah, North American leg of the tour doesn’t start ‘til July.”

“You talk to Lou lately?”

“Ehm, sort of? He texts me good luck before every show. I don’t know if he’s getting my voice mails. He tends to return my calls while I’m on stage, so.”

“Well.”

“Well, what?”

“Bit obvious is all.”

“What’s obvious?”

“So Louis knows your schedule so well that he texts before every show? But then he just ‘accidentally’ tries to return your calls when he knows you’ll be on stage. Just saying.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. So is Paris in June?”

“Yes.”

“Great. I’ll come to Paris.”

“Great.”

“Look. He can’t put you off forever. I don’t know exactly what went on, but he’s a bit—off lately. Maybe you just need to talk to him about whatever this is.”

“Do you think I haven’t fucking tried to talk to him, Zayn? I just told you he’s fucking returning my phone calls when he knows I can’t answer! How the fuck am I supposed to talk to him?”

“Oh, piss off. Like it’s _my_ fucking fault. Talk to him when he and Liam come to Lisbon. Don’t let him squirm out of it by saying he’s there to work.”

“Right. Fine. Sorry.”

“Whatever. See you in Paris.”

“Yeah, see you in Paris.”

///

“Louis! You picked up!”

“Hey, mate. Sorry, it’s a bit loud in here.”

“Yeah, that’s okay. Where are you?”

“At our local actually. We just came from the studio. Recorded some stuff with Niall.”

“Our local sounds like that? Since when is it ever crowded there?”

“Oh, ehm, since we told The 1975 to come have a pint with us. And then somehow all their friends showed up or summat.”

“The 1975?”

“Yeah, they’ve been making their new album, so we keep seeing them when we’re recording. Their new stuff is going to be sick. I know you’ve always liked them, but I get it now, mate. So fucking sick.”

“Oh. Yeah, I like their stuff. I’m surprised you like it though. Was sure you thought they were pretentious.”

“Nah. They’re pretty cool actually. Matty can keep anyone on their toes.”

“So you guys are pretty friendly then?” Harry can hear the odd catch in his own voice, but Louis apparently pretends not to notice.

“Sure, sure. Anyway, I can barely hear you, Harry. I’ll just call you back tomorrow.”

“Oh. Okay. Call me tomorrow then. And I’ll see you next week!”

“Ehm, about that—I don’t think I’m going to be able to make Lisbon, H. I really need another week to try and wrap up some stuff with Niall’s record. And it’s my uncle’s birthday that day, so I was thinking maybe Stockholm? Gives me another week that way.”

“I—okay. It’s just—Lou, you’re going to miss Spain? You’re really not coming to Barcelona? I just thought—I dunno—that you’d just stay with me after Lisbon and come to Spain. I thought that was the plan.”

“I know, it’s just. The timing’s bad. I’m so sorry. I just can’t. I’m—I just can’t come to Spain. I’ll see you in a few weeks, okay? I really can’t hear you well here. I’ll call you later.”

“Right. Bye, Lou.”

“Bye, Harry.”

///

“What do you mean he’s not coming to Stockholm?—Liam, what the fuck—How are we supposed to get any writing done?—Liam, of course I trust you can help me with the songs it’s just—Am I really supposed to believe his excuses at this point?—God, I just fucking miss him, you know?—I’m fucking sitting in this hotel room in our favourite city, and it just fucking sucks because all I can think about is how much I miss him. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. We had plans—I wish it was that easy, Li—So I’ll see you in Stockholm and then Paris—Tell him he better be in Paris. It’s my last stop before I leave the fucking continent—I know. Bye Li.”

/// /// ///

Harry wants more than anything to put his fist through the wall. He can still hear the echoes of Liam’s excuses for Louis in his head, and he just wants to drown them out. Fuck, he just misses Louis so fiercely, he almost can’t function anymore. The extra days off in Barcelona mock him with their whispers of Louis’ presence around every corner.

He walks Las Ramblas with his PA and drinks coconut juice from La Boqueria. No one teases him. It’s not the same without Louis.

He drags Josh to Casa Mila and Casa Batlo. His jokes fall flat. It’s not the same without Louis.

The band humours him with a tour of Sagrada Familia. No one talks about coming back someday when it’s finished. It’s not the same without Louis.

The fountains seem to have lost their magic, Park Guell is overrun with tourists, riding the funicular to Montjuic seems to have lost its charm. He wanders the labyrinthine streets of the Barri Gotic and imagines Louis there in front of him marveling at how the streets are so narrow he can nearly touch the buildings across from each other at the same time. And it’s here in this place with Louis’ shadow everywhere he turns that lyrics begin to swirl through his mind.

        _Counted all my mistakes and there’s only one_

He turns a corner.

        _Now I’m searching every lonely place_

_Every corner calling out your name_

He walks faster as though to outrun his own words.

_Trying to find you but I just don’t know_

_Where do—_

No. He doesn’t want to think about this.

_Tell me where you go when you feel afraid_

He’s turned too many corners, and he doesn’t know where he is anymore.

_Tell me where you’re hiding out_

_‘Cause I need you now_

His heart starts to pound.

        _Tell me will you ever love me again_

His head throbs. He stops and looks up to see a cocktail bar. He goes inside and tries to drink away the shadows. It works until the night darkens and brings with it a stream of people. He wants to forget and if the drinks aren’t working maybe he needs someone to help him forget. He eyes some blondes at a table. They’ve been watching him. He suspects briefly that they recognise him before the breath is knocked out of him by the sight of a slight man talking to the bartender. He’s pretty with chiseled features and tousled brown hair. And Harry’s heart skips a few beats at the initial thought that it’s Louis. The man turns and sees him, and Harry can see that it’s not Louis. He winks at Harry. He blushes at being caught staring like this, but he doesn’t look away. Everyone else in the bar melts into the background as Harry categorizes the similarities and differences between this man and Louis. He feels his dick twitch as he imagines himself pressing the man against the stone wall.

_Shadows come with the pain that you’re running from_

Why is he fantasizing about men who look like Louis? He’s out of the bar and standing in the street before he even realises he’s done so. He gulps the air as though to cleanse his thoughts.

“You didn’t pay.”

Harry whirls around at the sound of the man’s voice. It sounds wrong. The man’s accent is American.

“Fuck. You’re right. Thanks. I’ll just go back—“

“Don’t worry about it. I paid it already.”

“Oh. You didn’t have to do that. I could—“

“I wanted to. Not every day hot musicians eye you at the bar.”

Harry’s cheeks flush a bit. “Oh. I—you remind me of someone.”

“Is that a good or a bad thing?”

Harry feels his smile crack. “I don’t know. I—I have to go.” He turns and walks quickly to the next corner, trying to outrun the shadows again.

///

Paris mocks him with its warmth. The only relief he gets from his own mind is when he’s on stage. There’s always a text before he goes on. And there’s always a voicemail when he gets off. It’s fucking torture being away and unable to fix anything. Soon there will be an ocean between them, not that it matters when they never speak anyway.

He climbs off the stage in Paris to a voicemail filled with excuses of feeling poorly and empty promises of seeing him in the States. He hugs Liam too tightly, and Zayn leaves them to write.

_Spaces between us keep getting deeper_

He’s never been so thankful for Liam’s steadiness. They write long into the night.

_It’s harder to reach you even though I try_

Zayn heads out for the next morning to meet up with friends and go to Centre Pompidou. He pats Harry’s cheek and gives him a smile as he heads out the door. Harry and Liam write and talk and argue. The guitars come out, and they trek down to the piano in the lobby. They record pieces they want to keep. There’s something missing, and they both know it.

_Spaces between us hold all our secrets_

_Leaving us speechless and I don’t know why_

They come to the airport to see him off, and he couldn’t be more grateful really. He tries his best to suppress any tears, but his voice is hoarse as he says goodbye.

Liam’s smile remains as bright as ever as he insists he’ll be seeing him soon. “I’ll come out in a few weeks, mate. Finish up the song we wrote maybe. And work on a few others.”

They don’t mention what’s missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song references: 
> 
> Midnight Memories, Don’t Forget Where You Belong, Little Black Dress, Alive, Through the Dark, Little Things (One Direction)-All mentioned during Harry's interview in Manila. 
> 
> Where Do Broken Hearts Go (One Direction)-Harry begins writing it in the streets of Barcelona.
> 
> Spaces (One Direction)-Harry begins writing this with Liam in Paris.


	4. Chapter 4

“Why are you staring at me?”

Louis watches Niall as he struggles to choke down the too-large piece of sushi he’s just put in his mouth. “I’m not.”

“You are. I’m trying to stay in my lane while I eat my damn fried rice and you’re staring at me like I’ve eaten your last piece of raw fish. Which by the way, I will never do that. Won’t ever come between you and your sushi, Neil.”

“I’m going to the Chicago show.”

“What show?” Louis damn well knows the answer to this question, but fuck if he’s going to be obvious about it.

“Harry’s show. You know, Harry? Remember him? Long hair, a bit tall? Your best friend? Roommate? Songwriting partner? Other half? The one who’s been on tour and feeling lonely?”

Louis rolls his eyes. He knows what Harry does when he’s lonely on tour.

Niall continues, “I just think he needs a bit of moral support out there on the road. Gets exhausting after a while.”

The accusation hangs in the air between them.  Louis looks down at his rice and frowns.

But Niall keeps going. “So you talked to him lately? Because when I talked to him, I got the feeling he wasn’t doing so well.”

Louis’ eyes dart up to Niall’s face. “But the reviews for the shows have all been great. He’s killing it out there as far as I can tell.”

“I don’t mean his fucking shows, Lou. Interesting that you read up on all his shows, but can’t find time to ring him.”

“I ring him,” Louis mumbles.

“Do you?” Niall asks, eyebrow cocked. “So you do talk to him then?”

“Well—“ Louis trails off. “Not exactly.”

“Care to explain what the hell is going on with you two?”

“Not really.” Louis is back to looking at his rice.

Niall sighs. “Well, I don’t know who to tell to pull their head out of their arse, but if it’s you, pull it out. Harry’s got a brutal tour schedule. He needs us.”

///

Louis already feels a bit shit having Niall of all people hint he’s being an arse. Well, it definitely went beyond hinting. He came right out with it. He flops down on his sofa. Harry’s sofa. Harry picked it out. Soft, grey suede. Very comfortable, beautiful, a bit impractical. Like some people really. Christ. Is he really comparing Harry to a sofa now? Louis paid for half, so really it’s their sofa. Together. Fuck. He’s gone melancholy over a sofa.

As if it’s so easy though to just ring Harry. What’s he supposed to say _? Oh, hey, Harry. I know you heard me say I’m in love with you, and I don’t want you to see other people. So how is tour? How many birds have you banged? Any hot blokes you’re doing? Here, let me help you write this song about whoever you think is the next great love of your life even though when you return to London you’ll dump them and spend all your time with me. _ He moans and pushes his face into a pillow. Even the pillows are lovely and soft.

No, he’s got to stop this train of thought. He sits back upright and texts Zayn.

Zayn arrives thirty minutes later with beer and demands for pizza delivery.

“But I’ve just come from sushi with Niall.”

Zayn stares back. “Well, I haven’t eaten, so I don’t see how that matters. Especially when you ring and expect me at your beck and call.”

“But it’s summer. You’re off work in summer,” Louis says, trying to justify his text.

“Doesn’t mean I should jump when you say so, mate. So are you calling for pizza or what?”

Louis throws his hands up. “Fine. Pizza. Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you feel like I think I can just demand you come over whenever I want.”

Zayn aims a pointed look at him. “I ain’t Harry, you know.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, Harry’s the one who’s usually up for doing your bidding, isn’t he?”

Louis bristles at this notion. “He’s not my lap dog, Zayn.”

“Isn’t he? Follows you around, does whatever you say, monopolises your attention—“

“I thought you came over to play FIFA?” Louis interrupts.

“I thought you invited me over to take your mind off your missing fan club member.”

Louis jumps up off the couch and stalks over to the counter to find his phone. “I’m getting your god damn pizza. Can you lay off now?”

“Are you going to ask about him?”

“Ask what?”

“Like how he’s doing. You know Liam and I were just in Paris. You know, when you were “sick.”” Zayn completes his sentence with his fingers making quotation mark signs.

“I just had to hear this shit from Niall. Now I get to hear it from you, too? Fucking great.”

Zayn has the decency to look a bit surprised. “Niall said something? Damn, mate. That’s when you know it’s bad.”

“Yeah. Okay. I get it.” He mumbles and looks away. 

“Well, apparently you don’t because you called me to play FIFA instead of talking to Harry.”

“Listen, I know you’re all just trying to help, but you don’t really understand what’s going on.”

“Does Harry understand what’s going on?”

Louis stays mute for a few moments. “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. I think he has some idea.”

Zayn nods. “Okay, well, I’ll just say that I’m not a fucking idiot, so yeah, I think I have some notion of what’s going on. I’m your mate, Lou, but I’m just going on record here with you, just  _ you  _ mind, and saying that your boy is a wreck over this. If you’re trying to protect yourself, I think you should know you’re doing it at his expense. Now order the pizza. I’ll get FIFA started.”

///

Strobe lights flicker through the dark club, relentless in their assault on Louis’ headache. This isn’t even the kind of party Ed likes, but it’s the kind you have when you’ve launched a massive hit album that sits atop every chart in the world. He just wants to find Ed and say his congrats and then get the fuck out of here, but he gets stopped every few feet or so. This is a win for him and Liam, too, he knows. To be the main co-writers on this album with Ed means everyone is taking a much longer look at them. They’ve mostly been known in these circles as Harry’s songwriting partners, but now they’re looking an awful lot like solid hitmakers. Niall’s album isn’t even out yet, and Louis knows it’s going to be a smash, too. Some absurd part of him doesn’t care to be known apart from Harry, but fuck if that isn’t some messed up shit to be thinking. He tries to banish it with the drinks people shove into his hands. It’s really not helping his headache. He finally gets far enough into the club that the people he talks to have at least seen Ed tonight. He must be getting closer.

An arm winds its way familiarly around his shoulders, and he relaxes into it. “Louuuuuuuuuuuu, mate! Where you been?”

Louis smiles up at Liam’s face. Liam’s eyes have relaxed into slits, a happy smile shining through the dullness of the industry people surrounding them. “I’ve been talking to people I don’t want to talk to, but I’m glad I’ve found you instead. You seen Ed yet?”

“Oh, man. Yeah, uh, he was just here—somewhere—“ Liam trails off, looking around aimlessly. “Who are we looking for again?”

Louis laughs. It feels good to laugh. It’s been awhile. So instead of getting his arse kicked by Niall and Zayn, he should have been ringing Liam to come round. He wonders briefly if he has been punishing himself. Didn’t he know what kind of responses he’d get from his friends? Fuck. More things he doesn’t want to think about. A light beams briefly over the top of a fair haired head nearby. Ed. He grabs Liam’s arm and hauls him along towards the man of the hour.

Ed grips him in a tight embrace, and they toast to their success. “I suppose you’ve been looking for the exit since you got here though, huh, Tommo?”

Louis shrugs. “Sorry. Not my scene.”

“Not mine either mate,” Ed says as he clinks their glasses together. “Saw your boy’s interview today. GQ. Very nice.”

“What?”

“Oh, you didn’t see it? Harry’s profile in GQ came out online. Someone sent it to me, I think.”

Louis is already scrolling through his email. The label sent it around this morning, but he hasn’t checked his email all day because of this pounding headache. Ed has turned to talk to Liam, and Louis takes this chance to just take a look at it. His stomach churns at the headline— _ Another Popstar Player _ . He skims over the article as best he can with his head throbbing and lights flashing.

_A bolder sound—arena setting—suggestive lyrics—different women every night—can’t commit to anything but the music—a player of the first order—some unresolved feelings surfacing in the lyrics perhaps—or maybe the feelings of his songwriting partners—_

Louis feels physically ill. He pushes his way through the throngs until he reaches the recesses of the loo.

///

“You okay, Lou?” Liam asks as he clicks through a few of the recordings they’ve been listening to.

“What?” Louis says, snapping out of his daze. “Yes. Sure. Why?”

“Well, I just asked you which vocal you liked better, but I’m pretty sure you didn’t listen to either.”

Louis pulls a face. “Sorry, Li. Play them back again.”

Liam sighs. “Look. I know I don’t usually say anything, but I’ve known you since we were practically in nappies. Just because I don’t say anything, doesn’t mean I don’t know.”

Louis slumps back  into the chair and looks at the ceiling, but says nothing.

Liam continues on. “Is this new then? This realisation you’re in love with him? Because let me tell you, mate, I’ve known for a while.”

Louis’s head whips in Liam’s direction. “What do you mean you’ve known for a while?” His eyes plead with Liam. “How long, Liam?”

Liam gives him a sad, slow smile. “Since the beginning. Your friendship was never just a friendship, Lou. It’s not like any friendship I’ve ever seen. And give me some credit, mate. I’ve been writing songs with the two of you for four years. So what happened then? Did you say something?” A look flashes across Liam’s face. “Oh. The night before he left on tour. You were acting so strangely.”

Liam turns in the swiveling chair and stretches out his arms. “Get in.” Louis laughs and shuffles his feet to wheel himself over in his own chair and into Liam’s arms. He hugs Liam tightly and thinks about how grateful he is to have a Liam in his life who knows him so well.

“I’m trying, you know?” Louis says brokenly after he pulls away from Liam’s embrace. “He doesn’t feel the same way, Liam. And you can’t make someone love you back, I know that much. So I’m trying to get over it. I know I’m fucking up, but I need space from him to do it. I need space to let him go. I didn’t know how long it would take. I didn’t know it would be this hard. I’m sorry I’m fucking up the songwriting by not being there, but I just keep hoping it will get better. I’ll move on, and then I can face him again.”

“Lou, when was the last time you went on a date with someone else? Or even hooked up with someone else?”

“It’s—yeah. It’s been a while.”

“Do you think you’d be ready to go on a date? Like maybe just a casual one? See if there’s a spark or a connection with someone else?”

“I mean, maybe? It couldn’t hurt to try. I haven’t been on a date since the last time Harry was on tour,” Louis admits.

“Yeah, I kind of figured. What about my friend Jamie? He’s single. He’s cute. He writes great songs—“

Louis barks out a laugh. “Well, can’t date someone who can’t write a great song.”

Liam smiles. “He asks about you, you know.”

“What? No he doesn’t,” Louis scoffs.

“Yes, he does! He asks if you’re seeing someone like every week at our poker game.”

Louis gasps. “You have a weekly poker game? What the fuck? How do I not know this? What else do I not know about you Liam? And why haven’t you told me this about Jamie before?” 

Liam rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “Honestly, Lou? I thought there wasn’t much point in setting you up with him while Harry was still around. I was waiting for Harry to go back on tour.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Louis clears his throat. “Well, okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, go ahead and set me up with him. When’s the next poker match? Do you call it a match or is it a game? Poker game?”

“It’s a game. And the next one is Thursday. I’ll give him your number.”

///

Louis stares at himself in the mirror. It’s fine. Everything is just fine. This is just a casual date. He knows Jamie. It’s not really a big deal. Just going to get dinner together. He can do this. It’s been awhile since he’s done this, but nope, he’s not going to think about that. He is wearing his favourite black jeans and a black t-shirt. He wears fancy shoes to make up for how casual the look is. He looks at his mop of hair, unruly in places, and decides to use some product to shape it into a quiff. He rummages through the cupboard until he finds some stuff that looks like it might work. As he starts working it through his hair he realises it doesn’t belong to him. Fuck. No, he won’t think about this, but it’s hard not to when the fragrance reminds him of the person he’s trying not to think about.

He’s ready too early. He tries turning on the telly as a distraction, but it’s not working. He grabs his phone to text Liam and hopefully calm down a bit when it starts buzzing in his hand. His heart sinks as he reads,  _ Hazza _ . Anger and adrenaline shoots through him.  He’s trying to move on. He really is. He’s agreed to this date, and “Popstar Player” over here who can only commit to the music is on the line to ruin it. He watches the screen and just before it goes to voicemail, he answers.

“Hi.”

“Lou! I—you answered! I didn’t—I mean, it’s great—I just didn’t—“ Harry fumbles.

“Did you need something, Harry?”

“What? No, I just wanted to talk to you. Always want to talk to you, but you haven’t answered in—a while.”

Harry’s sad tone does nothing to quell Louis’ resentment. Here he is trying to put this behind him, and he fucking can’t because even though Harry is far away, he’s still everywhere at the same time. “Yeah, well, now actually isn’t a great time. Got a date.”

“Oh.” Harry pauses, sounding surprised.  “Ehm, anyone I know?”

“Yes, actually. Liam’s friend Jamie has been asking after me, apparently. So I thought I’d see how it goes. I think he and I are maybe in the same frame of mind where we’re ready to meet someone. Not afraid of commitment, me. Not like you. Not crisscrossing the globe, am I?”

There’s silence on the other end of the line.

Louis stiffens. “Okay, well, I should go then.”

“I’m not afraid of commitment. That’s not really what I said in that interview,” Harry says. “You know things get twisted in the press. And anyway, you know me, Lou. You know that isn’t  _ me _ at all.”

Louis wipes a hand across his face. “Okay, right. Anyway, I need to go.”

“Have fun on your date, Lou,” Harry says softly.

Louis clenches his jaw. There’s almost no way he will be able to relax on this date now. He refrains from telling Harry to fuck off and just says goodbye.

///

Louis climbs into his car after the date with Jamie and rests his head against the steering wheel. He’s in no mood to go home where everything is just one reminder after another of Harry. God, he can’t go over to Liam’s when he just had a disaster of a date with his friend. Zayn’s with Liam. Niall is in Chicago with Harry. And Ed according to Instagram is in Australia on holiday. He hesitates for a moment before scrolling through his contacts.  _ Matty The 1975.  _ Well, that’s embarrassing. Did he save that number when he was drunk? Probably. He quickly changes it to  _ Matty Healy  _ and sends a text. He sighs and rubs his temples before throwing his phone onto the passenger seat. The date was…something. His phone buzzes almost immediately with a reply that he glances at with a smile as he starts the car and heads towards Hackney.

Matty opens the door, shirtless, with a bottle of wine in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. “Well, look what’s turned up on my doorstep.”

Louis smiles. “Hope that’s okay.”

“You know it is, love. Come in. Just mind Allen Ginsberg there. He’s spent the day chewing up the stairs, so now he’s sleeping on the doormat.”

Louis steps around the sleeping dog and kicks off his shiny dress shoes.

“Oh, my. Really pulling out all the stops with those shoes, mate. Assume the date didn’t go so well though, or you wouldn’t be here with that pathetic look on your face.”

“Thank you so much.” Louis’ voice drips with sarcasm.

“You’re welcome because I’m about to pour you a glass of whatever this is.” Matty stops to look at the bottle. “Rioja. From Spain.” 

Spain. Louis sighs heavily. The really stupid plan in his head had always been to be over Harry by the time he had tour stops in Spain, so he could go meet him there and relive all their good times. He can hardly believe he didn’t go to Barcelona. Part of him feels like a twat for not going, but then bitterness rises in his throat, and a voice in his head says Harry probably found a different companion for his time there. He wonders briefly if he took this person to any of “their” places or if this person only saw the inside of Harry’s hotel room.

He finally notices that Matty is holding a wine glass out to him and wonders how long Matty has been offering it - a while based on the curious look on Matty’s face. “So, Louis. What’s on tonight’s agenda? Get pissed and talk about it? Write a song? Howl at the moon?”

Louis laughs. “Can’t we do all of it?”

Matty smiles and tosses his hair back. “Of course, but we should get started now then. Long night ahead of us.”

After one glass of wine, Matty grabs another bottle, and they trek upstairs to the attic. It’s a smallish space littered with instruments and equipment.  Matty hands Louis a guitar and lights another cigarette. “Listen, mate. I’m not really the type to just come in here with someone and say, ‘oh let’s figure something out.’ So do you have anything in mind?”

Fuck. Yes, he does. There’s a melody that’s been swirling in his head all night. It’s spun a web through his mind as he pretended to listen to Jamie’s effusive stories. He plays it as Matty watches him, listening intently.

Matty quietly interrupts. “Almost has an acoustic ‘80s vibe. You could keep it like this. Like Extreme. Like ‘More Than Words’ Extreme. Any lyrics for it yet?”

“Not all of them, but I have a few.” He begins playing the melody again and sings the few lyrics that wove themselves through the web along the way.

_I’m like a crow on a wire_

_You’re the shining distraction that makes me fly_

He hums along with the tune until more words rise to  his lips.

_I let you use me from the day that we first met_

_But I’m not done yet_

_Falling for your fool’s gold_

He tries not to think and lets the words come of their own volition just as they always do when he writes a song.

_I know your love’s not real_

_That’s not the way it feels_

_That’s not the way you feel_

Louis keeps playing and looks up at Matty just as he closes his eyes to listen. It emboldens him to keep singing the words that float to the surface.

_I knew that you turned it on for everyone you met_

_But I don’t regret_

_Falling for your fool’s gold_

Louis lets the guitar fall silent as Matty opens his eyes and stares into Louis’.

“Mate. That was—I’m just—I’m sorry. I’m sorry someone made you write that song. Fuck that was painful. Jesus. I’m afraid to ever hear the full version. Break down crying or something. Now let’s get pissed and you can tell me who this is fucking you over like this. Then we’ll have George drive us over to his flat, and we can pelt his windows with eggs.”

Louis barks out a laugh. “He’s on tour. Wouldn’t really work out very well, I’m afraid, as they’re my windows, too.”

“Holy fuck.” Matty jumps up as the information dawns on him. “You’re in love with Harry. Fuck, we are going to need a lot of alcohol, mate.”

Matty takes his hand and pulls him up. “Let’s go drink in the garden.” He leads him back down the stairwell, never letting go of his hand, and Louis clings to that warm comfort.

Allen follows them out the back of the house and into the garden.  Louis reveals small pieces of his heart between glasses of wine and whiskey and whatever else Matty has in the house until the three of them, Allen included, howl their curses to the moon.

///

Liam flies in for a Thursday show in Orlando. Harry suspects Liam chose this city’s show because he wants to go to Disney World. Again. Probably see Harry Potter at Universal, too. Harry smiles at the thought. He heads down to the hotel gym to work off some of this shitty mood he’s in before Liam’s plane arrives. He runs far longer than usual, pounding down the treadmill. It’s not enough. He does pull ups, grunting loudly, until his arms burn, and he physically can’t do even one more. He makes a half-hearted attempt at a cool down when some fans spot him, so he dutifully signs a few things and takes a few photos before reluctantly heading back to his room. Alone. Sometimes, he really hates to be alone.

Being alone is great for writing a song or reading a book, but not when you’re in a shit mood for indiscernible reasons. He keeps thinking back to that phone call with Louis the other day. He steps into the shower and lets the spray hit him square in the face. He decides this is a safe enough space to admit a few things, if only to himself. Hearing Louis’ voice, hearing Louis talk like that to him was really hard. He’d sounded so bitter and frustrated and ultimately—dismissive. It was unlike any conversation they’ve ever had in four and a half years. It’s been months of Harry alternating between trying to pretend nothing’s wrong and trying to somehow fix things between them in an incredibly one-sided manner. He admits to himself that he does know why this is happening, that Louis’ confession was real and not a drunken moment. Louis knows he heard him and knows he doesn’t feel the same way. He doesn’t even realise he’s crying until he turns off the shower. There’s no way to fix this. His brain is a muddled mess of contradictions. He’s about to show Liam the bare bones of two songs that now seem hopelessly optimistic. And entirely about Louis. Why are all his songs about Louis? That doesn’t even make sense to him, and he’s the one who wrote them. Obviously he has some kind of feelings about all this, he’s just not sure what they are. God, he’s exhausted and lonely, and he misses his best friend. Fuck. He tries to pull himself together before Liam comes and sees what a wreck he is.

As soon as he opens the door Liam envelops him in a hug, and Harry nearly cries again. “Harry! Good to see you, mate! Can’t wait to hear your new stuff, but let’s go eat something first.” Liam chats happily about Zayn (a new art installation) and his family (Ruth’s getting married) and their friends (Ed almost got stung by a jellyfish in Australia; Niall says he wants to open a Chicago style pizza place in London). Harry waits for a Louis update that never comes, and it makes him unreasonably miffed.

“What about Louis? Heard he had a date with your friend,” Harry blurts out as Liam had attempted to chatter on about milkshakes.

Liam looks up from the menu. A kind, sympathetic smile crosses his face that makes Harry want to both cry and kick him in the balls at the same time. “He’s—okay. He’s keeping busy—“

“With your friend?” Harry interrupts.

“Oh, um, no. I don’t think the date went all that well. How’d you hear about that anyway?”

“I talked to him on the phone right before he went on the date.”

“Ah.”

He waits for Liam to elaborate, but he doesn’t. “What the bloody hell does ‘ah’ mean?”

Liam doesn’t seem to take offense to his outburst. “It means, I wondered why Louis showed up in such a weird mood to the date when he’d seemed at least a little excited about it earlier in the day.”

“Fucking great.” Harry throws his napkin to the table. “So it’s my fault then? I never said he shouldn’t date people! Not like him.”

“No one ever said anything was your fault, Harry. And what do you mean, ‘not like him?’”

Harry can feel his face turn mulish.  “He asked me not to see anyone when I was on tour.”

Liam at least looks surprised at this news.

“I can tell you know, Liam. I can tell you know something. So he didn’t tell you the whole thing? How he got pissed and told me he’s in love with me and he doesn’t want me to see anyone else? Then, he abandons me because I didn’t say it back. And now what? He’s fucking out there looking for someone else anyway.” Harry’s voice has gotten progressively louder, and there’s a catch in his voice that he hates.

Liam throws far too much money on the table and tugs him up from his chair. “Let’s go.” Liam hustles him away into a waiting car. Harry leans his head back and closes his eyes as the air con tries to blast through the Florida heat. He can tell Liam is staring at him. “What?” he asks rudely.

“Do you not want him to see other people?”

Harry doesn’t answer.

“Okay,” Liam says. “Have  _ you _ been seeing other people?”

“Well, he practically accuses me of fucking everything that walks every time he even speaks to me, so what does it matter?”

Liam snorts. “You two are ridiculous. I thought he was bad, but you might even be worse. How the fuck did I end up with you two?”

Harry gives him a small smile. “Bad luck, I guess.”

“Apparently.” Liam pats him on the shoulder briefly, and Harry stares out the window.

When they return to Harry’s hotel room, Liam asks about the potential songs he’s started. They set up in some chairs in the sitting area of the suite.

Harry pulls out his guitar and plays the melody for Liam. Liam suggests a few changes, but says he needs to hear lyrics before he can decide. Harry nods and starts the song from the beginning.

_             There's a lightning in your eyes, I can't deny _

_             Then there's me inside a sinking boat running out of time _

He watches Liam make a pleased face before he sings the next lines.

_ Without you I'll never make it out alive _

_            But I know, yes I know, we'll be alright _

Harry stops. “That’s the first verse.”

Liam’s eyes crinkle up a bit. “I like it, Harry. A lot. Do you have more?”

Harry looks back down at the guitar. “Ehm, yes. I have some of the next verse.”

_ There's a devil in your smile, it's chasing me _

_            And every time I turn around it's only gaining speed _

He stops again. “I have some ideas for the chorus. But the gist of it is that um, the person in the song is ready to commit to this other person.”

“Okay,” Liam replies. “Ready to commit to this person with the lightning in their eyes and the devil in their smile?”

“Yes,” Harry says as he looks away. “The person is wanting to let the other one know that they want to be theirs and don’t want to be lost anymore.”

Harry plays the melody a few more times as they both throw out phrases and write ideas down to convey the message. It’s Liam who comes up with most of the lyrics to the chorus. All but one line of it.

_             Wherever you are is the place I belong _

“God, Harry.”

Harry flushes. “Just don’t. Please, Liam. I already know what it sounds like. I like what you’ve come up with for the chorus. Should probably call it ‘Ready to Run’ actually.”

Liam sighs. “Okay. Well, do you want to keep working on this one or do you want to play me the other one you’ve been working on?”

“I think let’s work on the other one.” Harry sets the guitar down and turns away so he doesn’t have to face Liam for a moment. “We need Louis to finish that one anyway.”

“Right. Okay.”

Harry takes a deep breath and pulls up a recording for the drum beat of the song. Liam looks at him surprised as he hears it. “Yeah, I had a specific rhythm in mind, so I had Josh record this for me.”

“Okay, so first verse,” Harry says. He sings a bit hesitantly, watching Liam as he sings the verse.

_ I think I'm gonna lose my mind, _

_           Something deep inside me, I can't give up, _

_           I think I'm gonna lose my mind, _

_           I roll and I roll 'til I'm out of luck, _

_          Yeah, I roll and I roll 'til I'm out of luck _

Liam wipes a hand across his face. “Yeah, um, is there a chorus yet?”

Harry looks at him with concern. “Yes. I don’t have any other verses yet. Kind of need you, or—“

“Louis.”

“Yeah.”

“Right, go on then.”

_ 'Cause nobody knows you, baby, the way I do, _

_            And nobody loves you, baby, the way I do, _

_            It's been so long, it's been so long, maybe you are fireproof, _

_ '          Cause nobody saves me, baby, the way you do. _

Liam jumps up from his chair and begins pacing the room.

Harry watches him for a few moments. “Uh, did you not like it or—“

“Fuck, Harry. Really?” Liam asks, his voice incredulous.  “The song is great, but maybe we should talk about why you’ve written two love songs about Louis.”

“All my songs are about Louis,” Harry replies back helplessly.

“Jesus,” Liam mutters before throwing himself face first across the couch.

Harry leans his head back and covers his eyes with his arm. “I know.”

“Do you? Because it sure doesn’t sound like you’re indifferent to the idea of Louis being more than your friend.”

“How am I supposed to know, Liam?” Harry pleads. “He springs this on me and expects me to immediately be able to feel the same way back. I’m confused because maybe I do feel something, and I look back at our friendship, and I know it wasn’t normal. I can see all the ways we weren’t just friends to one another. But I’m just now seeing it. How am I supposed to figure it out, Liam? I’ve never been in love before. How am I supposed to know if what I’m feeling is being in love with him when he won’t even see me? Won’t even really talk to me?”

“Well, he can’t avoid you forever, Harry. You’ll be home soon. I mean, you work together, and for fuck’s sake, you live together. I’m sorry it is the way it is right now, but when you’re home, you’re going to have to figure it out and then move forward, with or without him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song references:
> 
> Fool's Gold (One Direction)-Louis plays part of this song as he's writing it at Matty Healy's house.
> 
> Ready to Run, Fireproof (One Direction)-Harry writes these songs with Liam in Florida.


	5. Chapter 5

Louis walks out of one of Niall’s recording sessions and takes a moment to stretch his arms out over his head. He walks a few paces down the corridor and swings his arms back and forth. He’s been hunched over the soundboard and sat in a chair for too long today. He really misses Liam being here with him in the studio. He hates having to try to do any of this without him. Liam isn’t the only one he misses though, of course. A sour feeling in his stomach accompanies the thought of Harry and Liam writing songs together without him.

“Let me guess. You just recorded a song with Niall called ‘Emotional Baggage’.”

Louis turns around to smile at Matty who has suddenly appeared with a package of cigarettes in one hand. He must be headed out for a smoke.

“Piss off,” Louis says with a grin.

“No? Must be recording ‘I’m So Emo.’

Louis pulls a face. “I pour my heart out to you in song, and you use it to take the piss?”

“I mean, yeah. What’d you expect, mate?”

“Exactly this, actually.”

“Well, good. Almost felt like you didn’t know me at all for a moment. So this isn’t going to smoke itself, is it? And then we should head out and eat. I’m hungry.”

That drunken night at Matty’s house, writing songs and howling like animals, seems to have been cathartic. Louis' been feeling—better. The next few days he spends working on a few things with Niall, and somehow Matty always finds him immediately after for some fun. It’s been so long since Louis actually felt like he was having fun. It’s the first time he feels like he really might be getting over Harry. He actually goes entire hours without thinking about him, which is really something for him. He tries not to let that thought in too much though.

Matty and his friends and his band are great distractions though, a whole new crowd of people to have a laugh and trade stories with. Matty tries to explain his synesthesia in a crowded club to him, and Louis finds himself pressing closer and closer to hear him. He finds it so fascinating. Everything about Matty seems fascinating. But his fascination doesn’t go unnoticed.

///

Louis walks a short few blocks to meet Liam for a bite before they work on a few songs. Louis’ mind swirls with a few lyrics and a nostalgic melody for a song for Niall. He tries not to think about what Liam wants to show him. God only knows how much he and Harry have written at this point. He spots Liam in a booth at the back.

“Good to see you, mate,” Liam says. “Was afraid maybe you’d joined The 1975 and forgot to tell me.”

Louis snorts. “Whatever, Liam. What are you on about anyway?”

“Heard you were out with Matty last night again,” Liam says as he looks over the menu.

“What? How do you know?” Louis’s eyes narrow at him suspiciously.

“Instagram stories. George’s, I think. He captioned it something funny. I forget what. You two just looked awfully cozy is all.”

A defensive tone threads its way into Louis’ voice. “It was loud in the club. You had to be close to just hear anything.”

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me, Lou,” Liam says as he looks up from the menu.

The server appears, and they order. Louis doesn’t bring the conversation back up, and Liam drops it. They eat, and their easy banter reappears. It flows through various topics, football and The Eagles and Lottie’s new boyfriend and Liam’s mum wishing for a visit from them.

They go back to Liam’s flat to work, and everything is fine until it isn’t.

Nerves tingle along Louis’ spine, and he suddenly can’t stand the thought of hearing what Liam has for him. He quickly starts rambling on about this potential song for Niall and plays the bit of a tune he has for it so far and let’s Liam take a crack at a few more lyrics for it. But he can’t avoid whatever Liam and Harry have written forever.

Louis is in the middle of a convoluted sentence about Niall’s hometown playing a part in the song when he loses his train of thought and stops.

“Are you done yet?” Liam asks.

Louis pulls a face.

“Because if you’re done going on about Mullingar, maybe you should help me with the things Harry and I have written. I know what you’re doing Lou, but I think we should really start working on Harry’s stuff. When tour’s over, he wants to start working on the next album right away.”

“What?” Louis asks, too surprised to hide the panic in his voice. “But that’s not the plan! He was supposed to take a long holiday after this tour!”

Louis’ mind reels with this new information. In a few weeks Harry will be back—for a while. They’ll be working together. They’ll be living together. He nearly breaks out in a sweat just thinking about it. The dread must be written all over his face because Liam asks if he’s okay.

“Yeah. Fine. Great, actually.” Louis attempts a smile that he’s sure Liam sees right through.

Liam rolls his eyes. “Clearly.  Well, you seem thrilled about working on the new album, so let’s get started.” Louis watches in alarm as Liam grabs his notebook and laptop and guitar. His trepidation doesn’t go unnoticed, and Liam sits back down and pulls up a recording on his laptop. He doesn’t push play.

Instead, he hesitates and lets out a slow breath. “Um, maybe we should talk a little first before you hear these.”

Louis looks at him with horror. “Fuck. Why? How bad is it?”

“Well, it’s—I don’t know, Lou. Well, for one thing we have no completed songs.” Liam frowns at this. “We didn’t exactly use our usual songwriting method where we’re all together.” Louis at least has the grace to feel badly about that.

Liam continues on. “But what we have is good. Really good. But they all need you, Lou. There’s missing lyrics and missing bridges and some of them have something that’s just—off somehow.”

Some of Louis’ panic has subsided. Is that all Liam’s been talking about? That the songs need a lot of work? Because Louis can definitely help with that. He was worried about something else entirely.

“And well of course the songs are—quite personal, so I’m not sure what you’ll think of them.”

And there it is. Louis heart sinks into the pit of his stomach. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, they’re obviously about you.”

Louis’ heart pounds, louder and faster. “They’re not.”

“Maybe we should just listen to them. I don’t have any clue how to move forward with the two of you, if I’m honest. I’m trying to help write fucked up songs about my friends who aren’t speaking to each other. I’m thinking there’s no guide book on how to navigate this bullshit swamp I’ve found myself in, so fuck it. I’m playing you this first one.”

Louis steels himself for it. He tries to remember that he’s been feeling better about things lately. That he isn’t thinking about Harry all hours of the day. He’s been concentrating on other things. It’s fine. He’s fine. Harry will come home, and Louis will be over this. He will apologize for being a dickhead, and their friendship will be magically healed.

And then he hears Harry’s voice. It was one thing to hear him on the phone; it’s another to hear him singing again. He tries not to listen to the words. He usually tries to first listen for the melody and think about what instruments and effects they could use, but it’s clear the most prominent thing in this rough recording is Harry and his voice and the lyrics.

            _Counted all my mistakes and there's only one_

_Standing out from the list of the things I've done_

_All the rest of my crimes don't come close_

_To the look on your face when I let you go_

There’s a missing verse before he hears Harry belt out the chorus. While part of him can feel the words burn into him, another part of him can hear the crashing percussion and keyboards and maybe a The Who vibe that could work with this song. An arena song. No, maybe this song could fill a stadium.

When Harry asks _where do broken hearts go_ , Louis answers with the missing lyrics in his mind, not yet ready to say the words out loud. _The taste of your lips on the tip of my tongue, is at the top of the list of the things I want, mind is running in circles of you and me, any one in between is the enemy_

And when Harry pleads over and over again with the same question, Louis’ bitterness replies with _are you sleeping, baby by yourself? Or are you giving it to someone else?_

Louis is so caught up in the song, he’s almost forgotten Liam is here. “You already know what to do with it don’t you?” Liam asks. “I can tell by the look on your face.”

“Yes,” he answers hoarsely.

“He wrote that in Barcelona.”

Louis makes an involuntary noise as the words _, now I'm searching every lonely place, every corner calling out your name_ flickers through his mind and takes on new meaning. The thought of Harry in Barcelona feeling lonely as he walks through a place filled with memories of them, together, and writing this song about it, eats at him.

Louis turns to look at Liam and pleads with him as though he could change what’s there in those recordings. “Please tell me that’s the worst one.”

“Sorry, mate,” Liam apologizes. “They’re all about equally distressing. Do you need to write anything down? Or do you want me to keep going?”

Louis takes a deep breath. He doesn’t think he could ever forget what he’s got intended for ‘Where Do Broken Hearts Go.”

“Keep going,” Louis says. “What’s the next one called?”

“Ready to Run.”

Louis steels himself for it as Liam plays the track. He paces the room as much to release some energy as to hide his face from Liam. The songwriting part of his brain doesn’t turn off, and he can hear where he thinks the drums will come in and where there should be an echoed vocal. He knows he isn’t imagining the stadiums these songs are for. But the lyrics sear through him, and he can sense the message of them, and he adds his own longing to it.

            _‘Cause I want to be yours, don’t you want to be mine_

_I don’t want to get lost in the dark of the night_

__

He starts writing out some thoughts because to be honest he isn’t ready to hear the next song yet.  When he adds, _I’d give everything that I got for your love,_ he knows he’s fucked. He starts laughing, and Liam looks up at him, alarmed. As well he should be, Louis thinks as his laughter grows a bit hysterical. He wipes away tears that he’s not sure are just from laughing. Liam walks over slowly as though he’s approaching a wild animal. Louis doesn’t blame him.

“Can I see?” Liam asks. Louis nods as he pushes the laptop screen to face Liam.

Liam looks it over briefly. “Do you want to work on them? I mean, Harry and I were pretty sure you were going to be able to figure these out as soon as you saw them, and we were right. Do you want to talk about it and get them ready to be recorded?”

“How many more songs do you have?” Louis asks.

“There are two more.”

“I’m not ready to hear more,” Louis admits.

“Okay, let’s just work on these for today.”

They work them into something that’s ready for Harry to record when he gets back to London. And even though Liam gives him a day to recover from the first two songs, he isn’t ready to hear the other two. Liam comes to his flat and plays ‘Spaces’ for him first. It doesn’t go so well, but the next one is much worse. Louis wants to put his fist through the wall, but he settles for throwing some small sculpture of Harry’s against the wall instead when he hears about how nobody knows him the way Harry does. Nobody loves him the way Harry does. Nobody saves Harry the way he does.

Liam looks at him first in astonishment, and then with some sympathy. “Sorry. Maybe should have warned you more about that one. Or maybe I can’t even tell which ones are worse than others for you to hear.”

Louis squats down to pick up the pieces of the shattered figure. He doesn’t want Liam to get hurt by the shards. He concentrates on getting every fragment into the bin before he comes back and rolls his shoulders.  He calms down and lets his brain take over for a bit. He helps Liam put in other instrumentation alongside the drums Harry’s put here, and he adds a verse that makes Liam chuckle.

            _I'm feeling something deep inside,_

_Hotter than a jet stream burning up,_

_I got a feeling deep inside,_

_It's taking, it's taking all I got, yeah,_

_It's taking, it's taking all I got._

“Apparently that feeling was rage. That jet stream made you throw that sculpture against the wall.” Liam shakes his head. “Fucking jet stream.”

They keep working on it until the song is complete. It makes Louis smile to hear Liam’s optimistic lyrics in this song. It’s strange that that’s what gives him a bit of hope, but there’s really nothing that can stop the anxiety that seeps through his veins at the thought of Harry’s return.

Louis is not over him at all.

///

Harry ends the tour with an exhilarating performance in Boston that he knows did justice to the music and himself. It’s the best sort of feeling as adrenaline pounds through him. There’s no high like it in the world. He needs it to keep going. Being on stage is the only thing that has kept him feeling like himself. Nearly everything off stage feels like a disaster he doesn’t want to deal with anymore. He just wants to keep this feeling going a little longer.

The band wrap their arms around him, and they jump around like mad until he trips Josh, and they all collapse into a heap. “We’re going out, yeah?” Josh yells into his ear, still ringing a bit from the show.

Harry nods as they all jump up to head out. He starts out the night declining any alcohol. He knows if he starts drinking he’ll lose this feeling, so he tries to ride the high out a little longer. He looks around at the faces in this club he doesn’t even know the name of, looking for someone fit to dance with him. No one looks quite right, and frustration with himself starts to set in. His sexual frustration is at an all-time high. He hasn’t been with anyone in months. Maybe he does need a drink. He doesn’t want to think about why he hasn’t hooked up with anyone.

He stands at the bar doing shots that he knows he will later regret, but he doesn’t stop himself. He lets the alcohol seep into his bloodstream before he takes another look around at all the fit people in this club. He refuses to listen to the jumble of thoughts in his brain. He searches until he sees someone promising. He eyes the brown tousled hair, the curved figure, the small stature. It’s not quite right. Harry refuses to listen to that thought and moves forward into the crowd towards this fit stranger. Harry doesn’t even have to do anything before the guy’s got his arms around Harry’s neck, grinding into him. Harry desperately tries to give in. He knows he’s being a fuck up choosing someone who reminds him of Louis. Anger pools in his gut, and he roughly pulls the stranger further into him. He’s not sure if he’s angry at Louis or himself. He looks into dark eyes, and his treacherous brain tells him they’re the wrong colour. So he closes his eyes before he crashes into a kiss. His stomach turns a bit sour, but that’s just the alcohol, he tells himself. The man pulls away, and Harry is forced to open his eyes. He grabs Harry’s hand and starts leading him somewhere. Harry isn’t sure if they’re heading for the loo or the door, but he knows he’s panicking at either thought. His stomach churns. Maybe alcohol wasn’t such a good idea after all. He suddenly sees Josh at the edge of the dance floor and sees his way out. He pulls away and wraps his arms around Josh from behind and picks him up. He laughs and swings him around, and he feels like a fraud, like he’s just pretending to be having fun and being drunk.

Josh knows something is wrong anyway. He sees right through Harry’s act. Hell, the whole band knows Harry’s not been in the best frame of mind off stage. But in this moment, Josh takes charge and calls security to come retrieve Harry. When he climbs into the black SUV, he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He’s a wreck. He knows. He’s exhausted and overworked. He’s lonely and frustrated. He just had the opportunity to do something about some of that frustration, but fuck if he could have gone through with it. It felt wrong to use someone, but it also just felt wrong period.

He stumbles back to his hotel room and peels off his sweaty clothes. He leaves them in a heap beside the bed before he throws himself across it, feeling the crisp, cool sheets beneath his skin. He skims his hand down his body, across his nipples and lets out a sigh at the sensation. He lets his other hand travel further down his body until he reaches his half hard dick. He teases himself a bit, tightening his grip slowly until he closes his fist around it. He slides his hand roughly against himself and lets out a loud moan, but he just needs the release as soon as possible. He slicks up his hand with lube and begins pumping up and down. He can feel his orgasm begin to build, but he can’t quite get there. It remains elusive, just out of his reach. He pumps his fist faster, but he has some kind of mental block that won’t allow him to let go.

Fuck, he wants to just _let go_.

His brain is warning him not to think, but it’s already too late. Mental images of Louis flash through his mind before he can stop them. First, the fantasy of Louis’ hand gripping him instead of his own, and then, the thought of his voice telling him— _Fuck_ , he can’t quite get there. He needs something. He reaches for his phone and quickly thumbs through until he reaches Louis’ number. He just wants to hear his voice. He has to hear it. He knows Louis won’t answer, but he’ll hear his voice on the outgoing voicemail message. His heart thrums rapidly in his chest as though his body knows it’s about to find the release it has been looking for. He waits through the rings, on edge and aching for it. He hears the click and assumes he’s about to hear the message.

Louis answers the phone.

“Hello?”

“Fuck,” Harry says as his fingers pass over the sensitive head of his cock.

“Harry? What time is it there?”

“I—I don’t—God—“ Harry keeps pumping his fist, his breath coming in irregular intervals. “Fuck,” he moans as his eyes close at the pleasure shooting through him.

“Harry, what the fuck are you doing?”

Harry doesn’t even register Louis’ tone as his body finally lets go, and the sound of Louis’ voice pushes him over the edge as he comes across his belly with a muffled shout into his pillow. He lays there a few moments, panting, before he realises he’s still on the phone. He looks at it and sees Louis hang up. He doesn’t even have time to process what’s just happened before Louis is texting him.

            _Wtf is wrong with you ??_

Harry’s head swims with liquor and guilt and the last vestiges of pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song references:
> 
> Where Do Broken Hearts Go, Ready to Run, Spaces, Fireproof (One Direction)-Liam plays the partially finished songs to Louis to get input.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s eight o’clock in the fucking morning, and Louis wants to put his fist through the wall again. All this time he’s thought  _ he _ was the giant fuck up, but apparently, he and Harry are equal partners in this.. Fuck him. What could Harry have been thinking? Why would Harry do this? Call him when he’s wanking? Jesus. They’re both so fucked in the head.

God, he’s been trying so hard. Even with the setback of hearing Harry’s songs, he has been thinking maybe, just maybe, he’s got enough of a life now without Harry that he won’t be such a knob when Harry returns. He’s made new friends, ones that have nothing to do with Harry. Ones that don’t remind him that he’s to blame for this rift. When he’s with Matty, he can just forget. He gets caught up in all of Matty’s plans, all his pranks with George. He likes the way Matty looks at him. When they’re together it’s like he’s got his entire focus. It’s a potent feeling to have the attention of a man as fascinating as Matty. 

They talk music. They make music. A new world of sound that he hasn’t tried before has opened up to him. The influence of it is obvious in all the new songs he tries to work on, but now that he thinks on it, he’s not sure who these songs are even for. He’s still working on Niall’s album, but he isn’t giving these songs to Niall.  Are they for Harry? He groans and slides down back onto his bed. He wishes sleep would come take him away again, but he knows that’s a lost cause. He forces himself out of bed and makes a cup of tea and tries not to think about Harry. He picks up dirty laundry off the floor and puts it in the proper basket and tries not to think about Harry. He eats a bowl of cereal and rinses out the bowl and tries not to think about Harry. He steps into the shower, and all he can think about is Harry.

He lets the water hit him square in the face as punishment, but that does nothing to stop his mind from replaying the sounds he heard Harry make thousands of miles away. He can feel his dick twitch, and there’s not a damn thing he can do to stop it. The moan he heard plays again in his mind and shoots straight through him, and he’s hard with his dick in his fist before he even realises it. He strokes his fist once as he imagines Harry on a bed in a hotel room doing the same. He pictures Harry with his eyes closed, his teeth sinking into his lip as his hand slides over his body. He can imagine what Harry looks like laid out, nude, his tattoos prominent over his taught muscles. He imagines Harry’s cock that he’s only ever caught glimpses of, hard and dripping onto his stomach. His fist picks up the pace until he’s gasping Harry’s name as he comes across the tiles of the shower.

He pants as the water streams across his chest and he braces himself against the tiled walls. Does he have enough of a life without Harry? Angry tears prick the back of his eyes. “Fuck!” he yells out as he smashes his hand against one of the bottles on the shelf, sending it careening off the shower door and then to the floor of the shower. His chest heaves as he tries to catch a breath. He’s trying to build a life without Harry. Fuck if that isn’t the worst thing he’s ever tried to do. He gives in and lets his angry tears fall as he picks up the bottle and places it back on the shelf. It’s Harry’s shampoo. A wave of self-pity hits him as he realises he has been purposely using Harry’s things, clinging to reminders of him even as he tries to push him away.

He eventually calms down enough to leave the shower. He’s keyed up knowing Harry is going to be getting on a plane later today to come home, so he texts Matty to distract himself. It’s early, but Matty replies immediately.

_Y r u awake? Its fuckn early._

Got a shit early morning phone call

_Sorry. R u cryng?_

Fuck you. No I’m not crying. And stop texting like that

_Lik wut ?? wut r u talkn bout? Jttgmbs_

Wtf does jttgmbs mean?

_Jttgmbs: just trying to get my beauty sleep. Honestly lou, you’re not even trying._

Why are you like this?

_Charming and delightful?_

A pain in the arse

_Wow. Didn’t know you wanted me that way Louis. I understand though. I’m quite beautiful. I think I’d be up for it. You’ve got the most beautiful arse I think I’ve ever seen. I think I’d like to poke around._

Jesus. Not letting you poke around my arse. Are you going to be at the studio today or not?

_Well, you brought it up. And yes we’ll be there._

///

When Louis arrives at the studio, Liam is already there. He tries not to meet Liam’s eyes. He doesn’t need Liam’s pity today.

“Heard you were working on new stuff. Anything you want to share?”

Louis startles. “What? Who did you hear that from?”

“George’s Instagram stories. They’ve been very enlightening.”

“Okay. Well, I just have a few thoughts written out, but nothing I want to pitch to Niall. It’s all a bit cynical for Niall, I think. Well, the lyrics are anyway. The music itself is quite upbeat with an 80s influence.”

Liam grins. “So a The 1975 influence?”

Louis tries to keep the colour from rising into his face, not that he could really stop it. “Yeah, I guess so. So where’s Niall? He’s late.”

“I dunno. So do you have anything you want to tell me about you and Matty?”

“Uh, we’re friends Liam. What do you want to know?”

“You just spend a lot of time with him is all. What happens when Harry—“ The door bursts open with Matty dragging Niall into the studio, his arm wrapped around Niall’s shoulders almost into a headlock.

“I think I’ve found something that belongs to you!” Matty announces as he pushes Niall into a chair. He sits in Niall’s lap and looks expectantly at Liam and Louis as Niall laughs. “So what are we talking about? Harry?”

“What? No!” Louis says.

“I heard one of you say his name when I escorted this gentleman into the room.” He pokes a finger in Niall’s chest.

“Oh,” Liam says, glancing towards Louis as if for permission. “Uh, I was asking him what he was gonna do when Harry gets home.”

“When’s he coming home?” Matty asks as he jumps up from Niall’s lap and starts thumbing through Louis’ notebook. Louis reaches out to take it back from him, but he slaps Louis’ hand away. “I’m looking for something.”

Liam eyes them curiously as though noticing something between them. “Harry will be home in the morning.”

Matt claps the notebook shut and lets his mouth fall open dramatically. “Fuck me. No way. Didn’t realise it was so soon.” He gestures towards Louis.  “This one hasn’t said a peep about it. Been writing songs about it though.”

Liam’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“Shut up, Liam. You know I’ve been writing,” Louis says as he snaps the notebook out of Matty’s hands and then hits him with it.

“I didn’t even say anything!” Liam insists.

“Your eyebrows did,” Louis sulks.

Liam waggles his eyebrows at him and laughs. “I knew you were writing. I just didn’t know  _ what _ you were writing.”

Louis looks down at his own fingers and examines his cuticles, his lips pursed. “It’s just a song. They don’t all have to mean something.”

“You should have Liam help you finish ‘Fools Gold,’ mate,” Matty says. “It’s sad as hell, but it’s lovely, too. You should play it for Niall. Maybe he’ll want it.”

Louis chews his bottom lip. “Yeah, Niall might want it.”

“Or are you gonna give it to Harry?” Matty asks nonchalantly.

The thought of Harry singing it makes Louis want to throw up. “Definitely Niall.”

“Great! Play it for me!”

“Well, it’s not ready yet really. But maybe we could work on it today if we have time. Niall, you still have two to record today. Maybe Matty will actually go away and record his own songs and leave us be.” He stares pointedly at Matty.

“I see when I’m not wanted,” Matty sniffs. “So you’ll be around tonight, Lou? My place? George will probably come, too. You can just stay over at mine if we get slaughtered. Come on, Lou. Curry? Cheap red wine? Maybe we’ll work on that banger you’ve started working on. Maybe has a bit of my influence about it.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You know I’ll be there.”

Louis doesn’t miss the look between Liam and Niall as Matty finally exits the room with the same bang he came in on. 

///

Harry rests his head against the headrest of his first class seat. He shifts in his seat trying to get more comfortable as if finding the right spot might ease the discomfort in his mind. He stares out the window at the clouds as the aeroplane rises above them and tries to stay calm, but his head is a mess. He’s hungover, he feels like the worst kind of fuck up, and he’s alone. All in all, he’s feeling pretty shit today. He’s been itching to get back home though. Home is where he can start working more on his next album. Home is where he can sleep in his own bed. Home is where he’s close enough to visit his family. Home is where Louis is. He closes his eyes as he lets that thought overtake him.

He’s supposed to be going on a holiday. A long, extended holiday. With Louis. That was the plan. He lets his thoughts drift to all the places they Googled looking for the perfect spot. He remembers the wide smile Louis gave him as they looked for somewhere Louis could surf. Louis was going to teach him to surf as if Harry wouldn’t be the absolute worst surfer of all time with his balance issues.  He chokes down the emotion that’s welling up in his throat. He needs to be home. If he has any hope of fixing this, of fixing them, he has to be home to do it. He’s been all alone trying to figure out his life, but he just can’t. He can’t figure out a life that doesn’t have Louis in it. He doesn’t have much of a plan on how to fix what’s become of them, but if they’re working on his new album, Louis at least has to be there. He wonders how they could be this far off track that he’s basically hiring Louis to spend time with him. There’s only so much Louis could do to avoid him at home, too. So there’s that. He sighs and tries to rest, but sleep eludes him as the five hour flight ticks by as slowly as a watched pot.

There’s a waiting car for him, and that’s the final straw to Harry’s exhaustion. He’s never come home to London to a stranger before. It’s always been Louis. No matter what time, day or night, Louis has always picked him up from the airport to take him home. He tells himself that he knew there would be a car and to stop being stupid, but he had held out hope until this last moment that he would see Louis here, waiting for him. Disappointment floods his chest. He lets the tears spill down his cheeks as soon as he’s in the car.

As the neighbourhoods begin to look more and more familiar, Harry tries his best to pull himself together. It’s fairly early in the morning. Louis may even still be asleep. On the chance he’s up and about already, Harry doesn’t want to walk in looking like a red eyed ninny. He wipes his eyes, and the driver silently hands him some tissues. Harry gives him a watery smile and a thank you as he blows his nose. 

He takes a few calming breaths as the lift brings him closer and closer, floor by floor, to he and Louis’ flat. His heart pounds as he opens the door. He stops for a moment in the entryway, holding his breath. There’s a silence he can feel. He knows without even looking that Louis isn’t here. His shoulders slump in relief as he dumps his bag on the floor and heads towards the loo. He splashes water across his face and looks up into his own reflection in the mirror. The relief he felt at not facing Louis is gone now and has been replaced with a sudden deluge of emotions that he watches flicker across his face. Sadness and grief, anger and bitterness, self-pity and embarrassment. He takes a shower and tries to wash it all away, scrubbing until his skin is pink. As he tries to dress, he is hit with a bone deep tiredness. All he manages to do is pull on a pair of joggers and collapse onto the bed.

He couldn’t have been asleep for more than twenty minutes when a loud thump wakes him. More loud noises and raised voices follow the first thump. He sits up blearily and rubs his eyes before walking out towards the voices. He’s a bit disoriented, and it doesn’t occur to him he’s walked out half dressed, his hair still damp. It is his flat after all. He doesn’t think anything of it until he sees the looks on the faces of the three people sprawled across his couch.

“Nice abs, mate,” Matty says with a hiccup. George collapses into giggles and hides his face behind his hands. Louis looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Harry,” Louis says, sounding a bit strangled. “Hi.”

Harry is exhausted and upset, and he can smell the liquor and weed from here. He’s been gone for months, and the person who means the most to him in the world is just sitting there and all he’s got to say for himself is  _ hi _ . He lets his anger boil to the surface instead of tears. “Are you fucking drunk? At half eight in the morning?”

Louis flushes at the accusation. “No,” he says as though it wasn’t perfectly obvious they were all shitfaced beyond belief.

George laughs harder and plasters his face against Matty’s chest. Matty pets his hair and shoots a look at Harry. “You’re really killing the buzz, Harold.”

Harry presses his lips into a firm line. So this is the arsehole Louis has been spending all his time with? He gives Matty a cursory glance before his eyes can’t help but lock in on Louis’. Disappointment winds itself around his throat until he’s choking on it. He’s too tired for this shit right now. He’s not even sure what he expected, but it wasn’t this. To be fair, he has been avoiding even thinking about this moment. He was sure he’d be horribly embarrassed after the other night, but the letdown of being met with a driver and an empty flat and now this has effectively quashed any embarrassment for the moment. Is this what they’ve come to? Louis wants buffers between them? Alcohol and pretentious twats?

Louis looks back at him a bit lost. He’s still drunk or high or both. His hazy blue eyes stare back at him helplessly as though he has no clue why Harry is standing in front of him. Surely, he remembers today is the day he was coming home. Fuck, what if he didn’t? Could it really slip his mind so easily?

“Louis?” he says. It’s both a plea and a question.

He stares at Louis, his heart in his throat, and wills him to send these other people away. He wills him to walk over and hug him and tell him it’s all going to be okay, to make him a cup of tea and stroke his hair as he naps on the sofa with his head in Louis’ lap as Louis watches football. Maybe it isn’t fair after everything that has happened to keep wanting this, but Harry is just so tired. Too tired to be fair.

Tension hangs in the air as Harry waits for a few long moments before he gives up. He lets the anger back in. “I’ve been awake for over twenty-four hours,” Harry bites out. “I’m going back to bed. Keep it down.” He turns and stalks back to his room and slams the door behind him. 


	7. Chapter 7

Deep sleep eludes him. The songs he’s been writing with Liam drift in and out of his dreams, reminders of Louis that he can’t even escape in his sleep. He wakes up entwined in the duvet, still exhausted. He sighs and knows the jet lag will take some time to wear off. A few hours of rest certainly isn’t going to cut it. He goes to take a piss and notices in the mirror that his hair is a gnarled mess from sleeping on it still wet. He runs his hand through it a few times before he thinks about where Louis is. He listens intently for a few moments and can hear the quiet that tells him he’s alone again.

He eats food he doesn’t taste and drinks tea that is certainly not brewed to Louis’ specifications. He’s left the bag in too long; the tea leaves a bitter taste in Harry’s mouth. He checks his phone, which he’s forgotten to charge. It’s dead, so he plugs it in and uses his laptop to check his email. He’s got a file from Liam to download and a few reminders from his management about possible upcoming events to attend. He tries not to think about why he isn’t on holiday right now.

He’s physically drained, but he’s afraid if he doesn’t keep busy he will lose the fragile hold he has on his mental state. Errands. He could run errands. He makes a quick shopping list. There’s practically no food in the fridge, and he noticed earlier his shampoo has gone missing.

When he walks back into the flat, errands complete, he hesitates and listens again for any sign Louis might be home. He’s met with silence yet again. His shoulders slump in defeat. Even though things are all wrong between them right now, he still wishes Louis was here.

He puts away the grocery shopping and tries to think of other things to keep busy. He empties out his suitcase and does a load of laundry. Some of Louis’ clothes make it into the load as he has an overflowing basket of dirty clothes as it is. It feels normal, natural, that he would do Louis’ laundry just as he always has. What has Louis been doing about his laundry? Has he been doing it himself? Sending it out? Either way, he hasn’t needed Harry to do it. He hasn’t needed Harry for a lot of things. He hasn’t needed him to make a fry up or play Fifa or prank Liam or write songs or—Harry stops.

He rings his mum and Gemma and makes plans to visit as soon as possible. He turns the telly on and watches part of a repeat of Judge Rinder and does more laundry before he decides he should probably eat something. He sits alone as darkness settles over the city.

As he clears his plate and sets it in the sink, he remembers the audio file Liam sent him. He pulls up his laptop and reads the brief message: _Lou and I finished the songs. I’m sending you a demo of one of them that’s ready to record when you are._

Harry takes a deep breath and hits play. Brash keyboards ring out, and he hears himself say, _Counted all my mistakes and there’s only one, standing out from the list of the things I’ve done—_ He hits pause, his heart seeming to beat out of rhythm. Where Do Broken Hearts Go. Louis finished it. He’s not sure he can handle hearing it. His stomach clenches at the thought of Louis listening to his words. Did he understand what these words meant to him?

With shaking fingers, he presses play again. He can hear Liam and Louis blend their voices with his own to give him a feel for how it will sound when it’s recorded, and their voices move seamlessly into the verses that don’t have Harry’s voice yet. _So I built you a house from a broken home, And I wrote you a song with the words you spoke, Yeah, it took me some time, but I figured out, How to fix up a heart that I let down._ Harry lets out a small cry. Of course Louis knew what his words meant. He knew what Harry meant, and he’s answering him back.

Harry’s voice pleads to know where broken hearts go, and he hears Louis’ voice respond to him with words of desire and confusion and bitter jealousy. Harry’s mind reels when he realises how close Louis’ words match his own feelings. Whatever he feels for Louis, it certainly isn’t all platonic. He wonders if it ever has been. He suddenly can’t stand to be in the flat for another moment longer, surrounded by constant reminders of Louis.

///

Louis carefully clicks open the door to the flat. He’s had enough to drink to know that he’s in no shape to talk to Harry, but not so much that he can’t at least try to come in unnoticed. He thinks it’s late enough that Harry might already be asleep. He closes the door behind him as quietly as someone who’s been on a day and a half long bender can. He leans back against the door. It’s dark in the flat, so Harry must already be asleep. He creeps across the living room in the dark, cursing as quietly as possible when he stubs his toe on the small table next to the sofa. He feels guilty as hell about Harry having to come home to him all fucked up earlier. The least he can do is not wake him up now. He’s probably jetlagged and exhausted.

He strips down to his pants and throws his dirty things into the now empty basket. Harry’s done his laundry. More guilt pricks at him. He tiptoes to his bedroom and reaches for the doorknob when he suddenly remembers he’s not the only one who should feel guilty. There’s a reason Louis has been fucking drinking his liver away since yesterday night. Listening to Harry wanking on the other end of the phone didn’t exactly help him prepare to repair their friendship.

He stalks back to Harry’s bedroom and flings open the door, ready to have it out, but the bed is empty. It’s neatly made up as though no one has been there at all, but there are small reminders back in the room that prove Harry has returned. His journal is back on the night stand next to a bottle of water. The wardrobe door has been left cracked open a bit. His suitcase is sitting on a chair. Where the fuck is he?

Louis drags himself back to his own bed and collapses into it. His mind worries over where Harry is and who he’s with and what he’s doing. Does he have new friends Louis doesn’t know about? Did he meet someone on tour? Is he with Niall? Liam and Zayn? Nick? Is he out trying to pull at a club? Louis punches at his pillow and tries to clear his mind. He eventually falls into a fitful sleep.

///

Louis wakes up with a hangover from hell. Just as he deserves. His mouth tastes like something’s crawled in and died whilst he slept. He drags himself to the loo and brushes his teeth and gulps down a few glasses of water. His head pounds in protest, so he rummages about for paracetamol and takes that as well. On his way to the kitchen to make tea, he remembers that Harry is back. His heart throbs a bit, and he peeks into Harry’s bedroom to see if he ever came home. It looks as untouched as it had when Louis had stumbled in last night. Louis hangs his head and wonders where Harry spent the night before he forces his feet back towards the kitchen.

He puts the kettle on and rustles up some cereal. There’s a new box of Coco Pops. Harry must have gone out shopping yesterday. A twinge of guilt hits him that Harry would remember to buy him his favourite cereal. He desperately wants to know where Harry’s at right now and what he’s got up to. He needs a legitimate reason to call all their friends asking after him.

An idea dawns when he gulps down the last of his tea. A party. He should plan a little party for Harry. Something small, with just their close friends to welcome Harry home. Half the day is wasted, but he’s pretty sure he can pull this thing off for tonight if everyone is free. He calls Liam first, even though he’s fairly certain Harry wouldn’t dare go to Liam when he’s upset.

“Hey, mate. What’s going on? Can’t believe you’ve called me.”

“Oh,” Louis startles at the response. “Sorry. Is this a bad time?”

“No, no, it’s just that you usually text.”

Louis clears his throat. “Um, yeah. Just thought I’d call this time. Was thinking of having people over tonight. You know, to uh, welcome Harry home.”

“Oh! Sounds good! Zayn and I will be there!”

Louis coughs. “Um, okay. Good.”

There’s a pause before Liam asks, “Were you wanting to say something else?”

“Ehm, no. That’s it.”

“Lou—“ Louis can hear the sympathy in his voice. “Are you okay? How’s everything going? Is Harry there right now? Have you talked?”

Well, Louis has his answer. Harry isn’t there. Not that he really thought he would be. “I—no, he’s not here. I don’t actually know where he’s gone off to.” Louis tries to laugh, but it comes out all wrong. “Well, see you tonight!”

“Louis—“

“It’s fine, Liam. I’m fine. If you see Harry, tell him to come to his own party tonight, okay?”

He can hear Liam audibly sigh. “Right. Maybe you should tell him yourself though.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll do that.”

He rings off and thinks about who to call next. Ed is on tour, so not him. He really has only two other options: Niall or Nick. Unless Harry’s gone home with a hookup or he’s seeing someone Louis doesn’t know about. Both are things he doesn’t want to think on.

Niall doesn’t answer his phone. Dickhead. Louis sends him a text about the party, and then he stares at the phone for a minute. He does not want to call Nick. Nick will see right through this. God knows what Harry has told him. He’s not really Louis’ friend; he’ll have zero sympathy for Louis.  He should just text, but then he won’t know if Harry is with him or not. He smooths the fringe over his forehead nervously before he pushes call. An interminable number of rings later Nick answers. He’s using his radio voice and Louis is instantly annoyed. “Hiya, Louis. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Fuck. He should have just texted Harry. “Hi, Nick. Just thought I’d invite you round for a little thing tonight. Just a few of us to welcome Harry home. Unless you’ve already had a chance to see him.”

Smooth. Real smooth, Tomlinson. Honestly, there’s something wrong with him. There’s a pause and then he hears a door close. He suddenly remembers that it’s a weekday, and Nick is probably still at work.

“Checking up on him, are you?”

Best to brazen this out. “Don’t know what you mean. Called to invite you to a party. Didn’t know you were gonna be a dickhead about it.”

“Well, I’m not the only dickhead in this conversation, I’m afraid. I just got a text from Harry five minutes ago seeing if I was free tonight, so I’m going to go ahead and guess that you’ve not even told him about this party yet.”

“No, I haven’t told him yet,” Louis bites out.  “I wanted to make sure everyone could come first.” Louis thinks this is a reasonable point.

“No, you wanted to call and see if he spent the night at mine. Well, I’m going to grant your wish, _Lou_.” Louis grits his teeth. He hates how Nick can make his name sound like an insult. Nick continues, “He didn’t spend the night with me, but I know where he was last night if that’s why you’re calling.”

“Fuck off. Are you coming to the party or not?”

Nick makes a tutting noise. “Yes. I’ll be there. Guess I’ll tell Harry I do have plans after all.”

“Fine. Great. See you there.”

“You should probably text him before I do, _Lou_.”

Louis’ jaw is nearly clenched shut. “I will text him right now, if you can stop being an arsehole for five seconds and let me hang up.”

Nick snorts. “Just so you don’t make yourself look like even more of a knob than you already are, Harry spent the night at Ed’s flat last night. Don’t know why he’d want to spend the night by himself in someone else’s flat, but I’m sure you know the answer to that.”

If Nick thinks he’s going to thank him, he’s got another thing coming. “Goodbye, Grimshaw. Unfortunately, I will see you this evening.” He hangs up without waiting for a response.

He rubs his eyes with the heel of his palms and groans before picking up his phone again and typing out a text.

            _Hey mate. Got people coming over to welcome you home tonight if you want. If you’re busy ill call it off. No big deal. :)_

_///_

Harry walks into the flat a bit wary of what he’ll find, considering what he found last time. This time what he finds is Louis standing on a wobbling chair, cursing, as he tries to hang a colourful garland. He quickly walks over and braces the chair, so it won’t keep tipping.

“What are you doing?”

Louis drops his arms and rolls his eyes. “What am I doing? What does it look like I’m doing, Harry?”

Harry doesn’t answer. He’s known Louis long enough to know better. “Where did you get all these balloons?

The flat could blow away for as much helium as there is in the room. “There are a lot of balloons, this is true. Couldn’t throw a party without decorations.”

“Did you buy crisps and—“

“Yeah, I went round to Tesco’s and picked up a few things,” Louis interrupts.

“Okay, well do you need help with—“

“I’m not completely worthless at throwing a party, Harry.”

“Okay, sorry,” Harry backs away. Just another thing Louis doesn’t need him for. “I’ll just go take a shower then.”

Just before he steps under the spray of water, he hears Louis cursing and carrying on. Short arse. Probably can’t reach the light fixture to hang the other end of that garland. He lets himself grin maliciously for a few seconds before he sighs and lets the warm water try to wash away his thoughts. It doesn’t work.

He isn’t sure what he expected when he returned home, but it wasn’t this. He knew it would be awkward, that there would be some distance between them after not really talking for so long. But this? This sniping and avoidance, he doesn’t know if he can take it. Suddenly, his body gives in to the exhaustion that’s been pricking at the corners of his mind. He braces his hands on either side of the shower head and lets his head hang down so the water slides down his neck and shoulders and back. He decides he doesn’t have the energy to wash his hair and just washes the necessary bits. His dick perks up at the attention. He glares at it. He’s not happy with how he’s let it make things worse. He hadn’t even thought it was possible to make things worse, but here they were. He’s never been shy about wanking in the shower when Louis is around, but it feels different now, wrong somehow. It’s wrong that the last time he got off was to thinking about Louis, hearing his voice. He wraps a hand around himself.

If Louis has feelings for him, has he done the same? Has he thought about Harry as he comes? Harry slides his hand over himself and whimpers a bit. Does Louis even feel the same way as he did months ago? Because it doesn’t feel like it. It doesn’t feel like the boy out there avoiding him has anything to say to him at all.

He releases his hand and turns off the shower with a sharp turn.

///

Harry doesn’t come out of his bedroom until he hears Louis greeting people at the door. He plasters a smile on his face and walks out to a big bear hug from Liam and a slightly less enthusiastic, although not less sincere, one from Zayn. He isn’t sure how many people are coming, but Louis had made it sound like it would be a fairly small group. Niall shows up next with a wide smile and two bottles of Irish whiskey. Lottie and her boyfriend walk in, and Harry admits to himself how pleased he is that Louis’ family would make an effort to see him and that Louis would think to invite them. Nick arrives and attaches himself to Harry’s side, and to be honest Harry’s grateful for it. He can’t seem to stop his eyes from finding Louis when he sets out some food or argues with Niall about which playlist to put on or talks to one of their friends, although Louis seems to be studiously avoiding looking back at him. He can feel his frustration beginning to build. What the fuck is Louis’ purpose for this party anyway? Is it really to help their friends get a chance to see him now that he’s home? Or is it just another way for Louis to avoid being alone with him? He watches with narrowed eyes each time Louis checks his phone and texts back to someone. He can guess who it is when all their friends are in the room right now. Surely, Louis wouldn’t invite Matty to this, not after their little confrontation.

When someone buzzes up, Harry whips his head around to look at Louis who immediately jumps up with a smile on his face. Something ugly stirs in Harry’s chest. But when Louis swings the door wide and opens his arms to the person stepping into their flat, Harry recognizes the swing of platinum blonde hair that whips around Louis’ face as they squeeze into an embrace. Harry’s already up out of his seat and heading towards her.

“Gemma!” he says as his sister turns to him, and he scoops her up into a hug. He tears up a bit as he didn’t realise how much he needed this, needed her. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, little brother, just in town for today and tonight. Heading to see mum tomorrow actually. Glad Lou called me to come see you tonight though! Might have missed you otherwise!” He glances over at Louis who flushes a bit pink before turning away and heading towards Zayn.

Harry fetches Gemma a drink before he joins her in the living room. It’s all very nice really. Their friends chat, drinks flow, music plays, but Harry feels restless in this room filled with people when he wishes he could be here and comfortable with just one person. And it still irks him how many times Louis checks his phone.

Zayn and Liam leave a bit earlier than the rest. At midnight, Gemma is the last person Harry walks to the door. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay over?” Harry asks one last time before she goes.

Gemma pats him on the cheek. “Really, Harry. I’m fine. All my things are at Nora’s anyway. I’m leaving around noon tomorrow if you decide you want to come with me.” She glances back at Louis who is clearing away cups and pretending not to listen. “Are you okay, love? You were a bit quiet tonight.”

“Ehm, yeah. I’m fine.” He clears his throat. “I’ll let you know if I change my mind.” He kisses the top of her head affectionately.

Harry closes the door behind her and can feel the tension in the room increase exponentially as the last of the buffers between them leaves. He’s still standing facing the door, afraid to even turn around. He gives himself a brief moment before turning to see Louis bustling back and forth, noisily clanking silverware into the dishwasher.

Harry stands and watches him for another moment. “Lou?”

Louis’ phone buzzes. He picks it up and looks at it. “What?” he asks, distracted by whatever the text says.

Harry can’t seem to stop the words that come out next. “Can you fucking put the phone down for one second to at least look at me when I’m talking to you?” Harry is unprepared for the look Louis gives him, blue flames singeing him, but the words keep coming. “You’ve been avoiding me all night, and now when you’re forced to be alone in the same flat with me, you’re still managing to avoid me with your fucking phone.” He reaches out a hand, and he’s not even sure what he means to do. Knock the phone out of Louis’ hand? Take it away and see who he’s texting? See who has replaced him as the person who has Louis’ attention? Not that it matters. He already knows.

They’ll never find out what Harry means to do because Louis jumps back. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Were you gonna take my phone?” Louis asks, incredulous. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

They face each other for the first time in months. Harry still fuming, his hands clenched at his sides as if to stop them from doing anything more than they’ve already done.

Louis looks mutinous, his lips pressed into a hard line. “You know what? Fuck this. _I’m_ avoiding _you_? You disappeared last night, and I had no idea where you’d gone off to. Had to find out from Nick when, by the way, I was planning a party for you! I even went and bought all these fucking balloons and decorations and shit—“

“I guess you couldn’t just ask me where I was! You couldn’t text me and say, hi Harry just wondered where you were?”

“Fuck you. I’ll be at Matty’s.” Louis slams the door on his way out, leaving Harry with the remnants of his welcome home party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song references:
> 
> Fireproof (One Direction)-Harry records this in the studio.


	8. Chapter 8

“I’m glad you decided to come with me, Harry, but are you sure you’re alright?” Gemma glances over at him as she drives his Range Rover north, towards home.

“I’m just tired, Gems. Think I’ll nap if you don’t mind.” Harry pulls his beanie further down his forehead, nearly covering his eyes.

Gemma sighs. “I guess you’re not ready to say what’s bothering you, but yes, of course. I’m sure you haven’t shaken off the jet lag yet. It’s why I said I’d drive.”

Harry slumps further back into the seat and closes his eyes. He’s never had an argument like that with Louis before. It’s definitely the first time Louis has ever even spoken harshly to him, much less told him to fuck off. It left him nauseous, unable to sleep. He finally did drift off for a few restless hours before quickly packing a bag and telling Gemma he was coming with her. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy coming back home to Louis, but he didn’t know it was going to be this hard either. He’s so tired that he actually does sleep a bit, waking up as Gemma drives into the village. He smiles sheepishly at Gemma as she glances over at him.

“You are such great company,” she teases.

“Sorry,” he says as he yawns and stretches as best he can. He takes a deep breath as he looks around at all the familiar sights of home. It brings him a small measure of peace that’s been missing since he’s been back, the peace he used to find with something—someone else. He finds a bit more of it when Gemma pulls the Range Rover up in front of their childhood home. His mum still won’t let him buy her a new place, but to be honest he secretly likes coming back to this house, and maybe she knows it. And he almost feels complete when his mum steps outside with her arms wide open.

He collapses into his old bed to rest until it’s time for tea. When he emerges a few hours later, it’s clear Gemma and his mum have talked about him. He can tell by the looks they exchange when he asks if his mum needs any help.

“No, no, love, just sit,” she brushes her hand over his head and gives him a small smile. “I know how exhausted you must be.”

“Yeah, I’m a bit off still—jet lag.”

Gemma rolls her eyes. “Right. Jet lag.”

He’d argue with her, but he’s not ready to talk, and that’s the only thing that will come of this conversation.

They eat, and he steers the conversation far from himself. They curl up on the couch with ice cream and rom coms, and he realises he’s really giving himself away here, but thankfully, they don’t make him talk yet. That night he falls into a deep, restful sleep. The best sleep he’s had in months. When he wakes up, there’s a few precious moments between wakefulness and realisation where he feels tranquil, but then he remembers why he’s here in Holmes Chapel and not home with Louis. He wonders how long ago Louis and London became home and not here, and his heart twists a bit in his chest. He sits up in bed and squints at the sunlight pouring in through the windows. It definitely doesn’t match his mood.

He’s the last one up and about. They must have let him have a lie in, he realises as he walks through the house and into the kitchen. He puts the kettle on and thinks about making some toast, but he doesn’t have much of an appetite at this point. He glances out the small window over the sink and spots his mum puttering about in the garden. He walks out with his tea and can feel the late summer weather drifting into a slight September chill. It’s his favourite time of year even though it always brings with it an odd sense of melancholy. They have a proper lazy day about the house, Harry regaling them with stories from the tour. He carefully avoids all mention of Louis, which is probably what gives him away in the end.

Later that night, they eat gammon steaks and chips at the pub, and Harry takes a quick photo with a fan. He maybe has one too many pints, so Gemma drives them back. He takes a look at his phone and wonders when it went dead. He remembers thinking it vaguely odd he hadn’t had a text all day, but this probably explains it. He slides it back in his pocket and forgets about it until he starts taking off his clothes for bed. He plugs it into the charger and throws himself across the bed to sleep. He’s just pleasantly drowsy from the ale and drifting off when the phone apparently charges enough to allow messages to come through. He opens one eye as he hears a series of pings from it. Fuck. He rubs his eyes and blearily checks it. There are six texts from Louis and a handful of others from their friends. Six texts. He hasn’t had a series of texts from Louis since before the tour started. His heart pounds, and he suddenly feels more awake. He stabs his finger at the icon before he can change his mind.

_ Are you coming home tonight ? _

_            I don’t even know how many nights you’ve been gone so if you could text me back great _

_            Are you ignoring me ? _

_            This is fucked up if you’re ignoring me _

_           The least you could do is let someone know you’re ok _

_           I see on Instagram that you’re home and drinking so I guess it was too much to ask that you text me back _

Harry presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose. Before he even has time to process the messages, a soft knock raps at the bedroom door, and a quiet voice asks, “Harry? Are you still awake?”

“Yeah, come in.” He sits up in bed as Gemma enters and sits at the end of it, folding her legs up beneath her. She’s wearing pyjamas with pink pin stripes and small white rabbits on them that make him smile a bit even though the text messages are burning a hole through his phone. “Nice pyjamas.”

“Shut up. I don’t leave my nice ones lying about here at mum’s, do I?”

“I suppose not,” he says, still smiling.

“Harry? Is something going on with Louis?”

Harry’s heart sinks, and the smile slips off his face. “What do you mean?” He asks, though it’s too late to pretend it’s nothing. He isn’t exactly known for his poker face.

“He texted me tonight. I guess when we were still at the pub because I didn’t see it right away,” she says as she searches his face for a reaction.

He grips the phone tightly. “What did it say?”

“Well, it sounded like he didn’t know where you were, and he was worried. I just thought that seemed a bit strange—that he wouldn’t know where you were.”

Harry stares down at the texts on his phone. He flicks back through to the rest of his texts. They’re all from their mutual friends, casually asking where he might be. His emotions run the gamut from surprise and confusion to anger and resentment. So Louis is so concerned about him all of a sudden? Couldn’t make an effort with him for months, but suddenly he’s Harry’s self-appointed keeper? And he’s harassing all his friends and now his sister to keep tabs on him? Who the fuck does he think he is?

He looks at Gemma’s face and sees the concern there, and he admits to himself at least for this moment that he’s done this on purpose. He knew Louis would worry, and he purposely told no one where he would be. And while part of him is ashamed to have stooped this low, another part is pleased it worked.

“I get it. You’re not ready to talk, but Harry, you’ve been acting like you’re in the midst of a breakup or something since we arrived, and I just think—“ She pauses and whatever she sees on his face must keep her from finishing the thought. “Never mind. Just—text him back, okay? Tell him you’re here and safe at least.”

She climbs off the bed and gives him a small smile as she clicks the door shut quietly behind her. Harry turns off his phone and falls into a fitful sleep. He dreams of walking along the edge of a steep precipice. He looks down. He wakes up before he can fall.

///

He’s up and about before anyone else today. His brain feels a bit fuzzy, but he manages to dress himself and put the kettle on and use the last of the bread for toast. When he’s done, he stuffs his hair under a beanie rather than do anything with it and drives to the bakery.

As he pulls up, a wave of nostalgia hits him as it usually does coming back here.  Returning to visit his old coworkers is one of the best parts of being here. He feels a genuine smile cross his face for the first time in what feels like months.

“Barbara!” He calls out, as he bursts into the place. “Do you have an extra shift for me to pick up? Could use some extra money to buy new trainers!”

“Oh, Harry! Love, it’s been so long! Let me look at you! You’re so grown!” She comes out from behind the counter to offer hugs and tut tuts about staying away so long.

“But I was working, Barbara,” he protests. “Was on tour, wasn’t I? Couldn’t exactly pop over for a blueberry scone when I’m on the other side of the world.”

“Well, never mind that now. Where’s your young man at?” She looks expectantly behind him as though someone were about to appear.

Harry freezes. His face must give him away—again—because Barbara’s face falls, too. “Oh, no. You’ve broken up, haven’t you? I’m so sorry, love. Here, let me see what I have around here for a broken heart—“ She mumbles a few things to herself as she heads back around the counter to look through the baked goods as though one might be better than another for heartbreak.

“I’m—Barbara, I’m not—heartbroken. I just don’t know who you mean—“

She interrupts him sadly. “Oh my sweet boy. You haven’t walked into this shop alone in years. Always have your young man with you. You don’t need to hide anything from me, Harry. I’ve always loved you just as you are.”

Harry’s eyes fill with emotion. “Ehm, thank you. I don’t—Barbara, I guess you must mean Louis. But he and I—we never—“

“Well, for heaven’s sake, Harry. Are you telling me you two weren’t together? Oh Harry. Oh no,” she says, her face full of pity. “Did you not see the way he looked at you? The way you looked at each other? Like you’d both found the world right there in each other’s eyes?”

“What?” Harry chokes out as an odd sense of desperation claws at him. When he and Louis were inseparable, he was used to people thinking they were a couple. They’d laugh and shrug it off, but no, it’s somehow different this time. This feels more like a realisation—closer to the truth. “I have to—I’m sorry—I’m just—“ He stumbles out of the bakery and into his Range Rover. He doesn’t even remember the drive back to his mum’s. Suddenly, he’s just there, staring at the house. He walks back into the house in a daze and finds Gemma and his mum seated at the table. He plops down into an empty seat.

“Harry, are you alright?” His mum asks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m—I just went to the bakery. I ate the last of the bread. Sorry.” He looks at his mum, embarrassed with himself.

“Oh, that’s alright. Did you buy some then?”

Harry flushes. “No, I’m sorry. I—forgot.”

“You forgot?” Gemma’s brows draw together as a frown crosses her face. “Harry, what the hell is going on with you?”

“God, I don’t even know.” He stands up from the table abruptly. “I just need a minute. I can’t do this right now.”

He doesn’t have to look at his mum’s face to know she’s worried. He just quickly makes it back to his bedroom and shuts the door. He lays down on the bed and stares at the ceiling, the remnants of old glow in the dark star stickers still peeling off it. The door opens quietly, and the bed tips a bit as someone sits at the edge of it.

“Is this a head to head conversation or a head to feet one?”

He’s not sure he can face Gemma right now. “Head to feet.”

“Okay.” She shoves him a bit to one side and scooches in next to him, her socked toes wiggling about in his face until she’s comfortable. “You know, I’m always more worried about the head to feet conversations. They’re always a lot more—intense. Not always bad though.” He knows she’s thinking of them laying in these very positions as he came out to her, scared but certain. She’d stayed quiet as he put a voice to all the fears he had. He hadn’t been afraid to tell her, was the thing. She had already known without him having to say it, and she had calmed him with her carefully thought out words.

This feels strikingly similar, and that thought is what is terrifying him right now. “Gems, what have you always thought of me and Louis?”

She stills beside him. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. What have you always thought about our friendship?”

She sighs. “Well, when I first met Louis, you’d been working with him for, oh, maybe two months? But you’d called me too many times to count about how brilliant he was. So when I came to London and met him, I guess I thought—I mean, I thought I was coming to meet your boyfriend, Harry.”

He lets that notion sink in. Two months. After two months, his sister who arguably knows him better than anyone in the world thought he and Louis were together.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Harry asks after a while.

“You introduced him as your friend, and I left thinking the next phone call would bring me the news that you were together now.” She shifts a bit on the bed. “I’ve had that same thought for four years. Maybe I should have interfered, but I’ve been afraid to. Afraid maybe the feelings weren’t mutual after all. The longer it went on, the harder it became to say something.”

Harry feels like his processing skills are slow today, his thoughts having to cross a mind thick with fog. “You were afraid it wasn’t mutual?”

“Yes. Harry? Is this what this is all about? Did you finally tell Louis how you felt about him, and it wasn’t reciprocated?”

A lightning bolt shoots through him as Harry scrambles up to sit. “You think it’s me.”

Gemma sits up as well, a confused look crossing over her face briefly. “Well, I think if he can’t say the words back yet that you should give him a chance to figure it out because that boy is in love with you, Harry. I know it.”

Harry could almost laugh if he didn’t want to cry. He lets out a noise that seems to be a mix of the two.

“I feel like I’m missing something here, Harry.”

“It wasn’t me. Louis told me he was in love with me the night I left on tour.”

Gemma stands up in surprise to face him. “But Harry—that was months ago!”

“Yeah, I know.” Harry sinks back onto the bed. “I told him he’d had too much to drink. And then, he pretended not to remember saying it for a while. But he did remember. And he knew I’d heard him. But then he just cut me off, Gemma. He wouldn’t talk to me.” He can feel his voice hit an odd pitch. “He still doesn’t want to talk to me. He’s let our friendship crumble to pieces because I don’t feel the same way.”

Gemma eyes him closely. “Don’t you?”

“I—I’m not—“

“Harry. I’ve been watching you with Louis for years. When he’s in the room, you orbit each other in the most intense way I’ve ever seen, like magnets you can’t quite pull apart. Are you sure all you feel for Louis is friendship?”

“I’m not sure.” He admits.

Gemma gives him a hard look.

“I’m trying to figure things out, but it’s really hard when he won’t talk to me. It feels like I’m trying to put together a puzzle and I don’t have all the pieces. And he’s the only one who can give them to me.”

Gemma gives him a sad smile before she sits back on the bed and scooches back in beside him. He’s come to Holmes Chapel for respite, but there’s no escaping this. “I’m here, Harry. You can close your eyes.” She stays with him as he drifts off to sleep.

He awakens, alone, a few hours later with the ghost of Louis’ name escaping his lips. He lies there, drowsy and still exhausted, with Louis on his mind. He thinks about the turn of Louis’ lips when he smirks and the way his cheekbones sharpen when he pulls a face. He thinks about how the muscles of his thighs tense up when he’s playing football and the curves of his body in tight jeans. He thinks about how soft Louis’ hair feels between his fingers and how it feels to make Louis light up with laughter. Given how much pleasure these things bring him, he wonders how he ever could have thought they were platonic.

///

Louis stares at the text conversation. When he woke up this morning, the texts to Harry were finally marked “read,” but there’s still no reply. He tries not to think about the panic he felt not knowing where Harry was again. He also doesn’t want to think about how he sounded in those messages or what their friends are all thinking right now. If he wanted to torture himself, he’d go back and see what kind of desperate things he texted their friends, but for today at least he doesn’t care to be a masochist, or at least not as much as usual.

In some ways, Louis has become used to the quiet that comes with being alone in the flat, but the small things that indicate another person is living here again throw him off. The stocked cupboards, the milk in the fridge, all the clean laundry. It all means he can’t quite relax knowing Harry could walk in at any moment. He has no idea how long Harry will be staying in Holmes Chapel. He tries to remember how long it’s been since Harry’s gone there without him. Maybe the holidays at some point? Oh. That first year. When he was concerned about being away from Harry for a few days, afraid about how much he’d miss him. For fuck’s sake, how long has he been in love with Harry without knowing it?

He doesn’t need to meet Liam for a few hours yet, but he storms out of the flat anyway. He can’t stand to sit here feeling like he’s waiting for Harry. He stops down the road for a tea, and he’s sipping it when he gets the first text from Matty imploring him to come entertain him. By the time he makes it to Hackney, Matty has already found things to entertain him, namely weed and music. Adam stops by with a massive new pedalboard, so of course, the guitars come out. They record a few little things—little sparks of a thing that could maybe turn into something.

Louis leaves to meet Liam with the sounds of these little pieces still stuck in his brain, and they carry over into the new stuff he and Liam are writing for Harry. Liam humours this change in his sound and helps him work the tone of it to fit with what’s quickly becoming Harry’s third album. Louis isn’t satisfied with the lyrics yet; they’re proper clichéd in his opinion, but Liam insists on upbeat lyrics to keep Harry’s album from being too dark. They agree to let Harry decide what to do with it.

The little bits of something from earlier are trying to build themselves into something, but it still feels out of reach. He doesn’t bother going home and finds himself back at Matty’s doorstep. He’s welcomed back inside by George, who immediately leaves to take Alan for a walk. Alan gives him an enthusiastic bark, so Louis pats him a few times and sends them on their way. He finds Matty inside with at least ten boxes of what appears to be curry and rice.

“Hungry?” Louis asks with a laugh.

“You never know who’ll drop by to eat.” Matty sniffs one of the boxes. “I mean,  _ you’re _ here, aren’t you? Well, go on then. Drown your worry in curry.”

Louis pops open the top to one of the boxes to take a look. “You going to write a song about curry next then?”

“I just might do that. So what worries have brought you back here?”

“No, no worries. Just came for the curry.” Louis grins. “Actually, I just keep replaying bits of that song we were working on earlier. It’s driving me a bit mad. I was hoping to work on it some more.”

“Ah, okay. You were decidedly not hiding out from anyone in particular then? Is he not back yet?”

“Is who not back yet?”

Matty pulls a face of disbelief, eyebrows raised.

“Who’ve you been gossiping with then?”

“Niall,” they say simultaneously.

“Right,” Louis sighs. “Well, no I don’t think Harry’s back yet. Or at least he wasn’t this morning, and I don’t know when he’s coming back since he apparently isn’t speaking to me.”

Matty’s eyes light up. “Oh, ho. So you’ve come to talk about it then.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “No. I’ve come to write a song.”

Matty gives him a wicked grin. “Same thing though, isn’t it?”

Louis takes a bite of curry to avoid answering.

///

Louis drags himself home in the morning, clothes rumpled. He knows he probably smells of curry and cigarettes and regret. He opens the door and quietly steps into the flat, hoping not to be caught. He breathes a small sigh of relief that Harry still seems to be absent. Everything appears to be where he left it yesterday.

He takes a shower and tries to look presentable for the meetings he and Liam have scheduled today, but he’s mostly glad to be out of the flat. Somehow, he finds his way back to Matty’s in the evening. They drink and write and mess about with some new equipment. George posts muted videos of them being absurd on Instagram. It’s fun. It’s an escape. Matty always gives him shit for a minute or two, but then they settle back into their banter and music, and Louis can just forget for a while.

It’s become a bit of a pattern really, his showing up at Matty’s. He’s expected now. Alan doesn’t even get up to greet him with a sniff anymore.

“You ever going to write lyrics for these songs?”

Louis startles. He’s been staring at a blank screen on his lap top. “’Course. Eventually. If any ever come to me.”

“Having trouble without your muse?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t have a muse.”

“I’m just saying, your muse isn’t jerking you around. So you suddenly have nothing to say.”

“Harry’s not jerking me around,” Louis answers coldly.

“Ah, so you admit he’s your muse.”

“Fuck off.”

Matty throws his hands up. “Fine, fine. Forget I said anything. Definitely not jerking you around to disappear into the night without a word. Let you find out through social media two days later that he’s okay.”

“I’m not his keeper.”

“Aren’t you?”

Louis presses his lips into a line, studiously ignoring Matty and typing nonsense across the screen.

He wakes up the next morning to the vibration of a text in his back pocket. He’s sprawled across Matty’s bed, drooling on his pillow, still fully clothed. Matty is sleeping silently next to him, his curls spread across a pillow and a look of peace on his face that Louis has never seen before whilst Matty is awake.

Louis smiles at the sweet picture he makes.

“Watching me sleep, are you?”

Louis nearly wets himself. “Jesus. You sleep like a fucking vampire. You were completely still! I thought maybe I should check if you were still breathing.”

Matty cracks open an eyelid. “Mmhmm. I think you were admiring my beauty. It’s okay to admit it, Louis.”

Louis snorts. “I like it when you sleep for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it.”

Matty lets out a loud laugh. “How dare you quote me at myself! And I’m quite aware of it, thank you. Anyway, I wrote that note to George, you know. He really does look beautiful as he sleeps. Don’t really have any memory of writing it, but it’s clearly in my handwriting. It’s going to make a great title for the album.”

“If you say so,” Louis smiles. He suddenly remembers why he woke up in the first place. He pulls out his phone and reads the text.

_I’ll be home today. Sorry if you worried. Saw your texts all at once because my phone died. So I knew you already knew I was fine. Liam set up a recording session for later if you can make it_

Matty sits up and reads the text over Louis’ shoulder. “Are you bloody kidding me? He’s been gone for what? A week? And that’s all that you get in the way of an apology?”

Louis rubs a hand across his face. “Like he said, he didn’t know I was worried until I already knew he was fine.”

“Bullshit. I know what you two were. You were me and George. Well, if I fancied George that is. I’d fucking strangle him if he did that to me.”

“Yeah, it’s just—things aren’t what they were so—“

Matty makes a rude noise. “Stop defending him. At least now you’ll have lyrics for all these songs you’re writing.”

Louis doesn’t respond to that. He just lays back down. He’s uncomfortable; these jeans aren’t really a very good pyjama substitute. But he’s not going to just wear his pants in front of Matty. Apparently, even though he was tipsy last night, he still knew that much. He stares at the ceiling for a moment before he closes his eyes and tries to clear his mind.

Louis hears the brief click of Matty’s phone, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

He eventually returns to his still empty flat and showers and dresses. He supposes he really should stay here to wait for Harry. He has no idea what time they’re meeting Liam. As he scrolls through Instagram to kill time, he’s suddenly confronted with a black and white photograph of himself posted several hours ago. It’s quite a lovely photo really. The angle is nearly a profile. His eyes are closed, eyelashes fanned out across his cheek. The dark ink of the tattoos on his arm stands out starkly in the bright morning light from the windows. The white duvet making a nice backdrop for the lines of his body. He’s suddenly very glad he’s kept his clothes on if Matty was going to post surreptitious photos of him when his eyes were closed.

Then he notices the caption: I like it when you sleep for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it.

The door to the flat jostles open, and Harry stands in the doorway. “Hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song references:
> 
> Somebody Else (The 1975)-Harry writes and records this song.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry has had a week and a long drive to think about what to do. After his conversation with Gemma, he’s at least ready to admit to himself that there has always been more than friendship going on with him and Louis, probably from the start if he’s being honest. It’s not that he’s never thought about Louis in that way over the past four years because he has, but he’s ruthlessly tamped it down any time his mind wandered in that direction.

Their physical affection has always straddled the line between platonic and romantic. Cuddling in bed together watching Netflix, strolling the narrow streets of Barcelona, Louis’ hand slipping into his own, lingering hugs after they’ve been apart for any length of time. And that one sun kissed day in Positano last year—an almost kiss as Louis loomed over him as he lay on a beach chair. Louis had reached across him for the suncream, and the air had suddenly turned thick with intent. Harry had held his breath, waiting for Louis to close the space between their lips. He remembers Louis pausing with uncertainty and jerking back away from him as though he’d been burned.

That’s the picture of Louis he has in mind as he opens the door and finds the object of his thoughts waiting for him in their flat. It’s awkward. Of course it is. The last time they spoke they yelled at each other and Harry left for a week, but Harry is determined to barrel through this.

“Ehm, Liam’s got studio time booked in an hour, so I’ll just take a quick shower and we can go,” Harry says as he drops his bag to the floor. He keeps moving as he talks, not meeting Louis’ eyes. “I think we’re ready to record ‘Fireproof,’ so we can hopefully knock that one out and maybe even something else if there’s time.” He rummages in a cupboard until he finds a protein bar. He can feel Louis watching him, but he’s afraid to see what’s there. “You should maybe eat something before we go.” He pauses, realising Louis hasn’t spoken.

“Okay,” Louis answers. Harry nods and walks down the hallway and into his bedroom.

Their drive to the studio is done mostly in silence. Harry grits his teeth when he finds they’ve arrived early, and Liam isn’t there yet. Louis fiddles about with some of the equipment, and Harry scrolls through Twitter and then Instagram. He freezes when he sees it. He stares at the photo of Louis in bed—rumpled and beautiful. He can feel the goosebumps breaking out across his skin as he clutches his phone and reads the caption on Matty’s Instagram.

He’s just spent the better part of a week lurking through everything Louis is tagged in. He’s seen all the muted videos of him playing music and writing songs. He’s seen the photos of Louis playing with a dog he’s never seen before. He’s seen the live feeds of pranks Louis is about to pull on George or Matty whilst the other films. He’s seen Louis experimenting with guitar pedals and synthesizers. And now this. _This_ is making his heart want to claw its way out of his chest.

Liam opens the door, and Harry thinks he hears Louis sigh in relief. “Hey, lads! You’re actually on time. Did you have a nice time with your mum, Harry?” Harry mumbles a reply as Liam busily turns dials and shoos him into the booth with the lyrics and instructs him to warm up his voice.

He does as he’s told and when he’s ready he puts the headphones on and gives Liam a thumbs up. Harry sings the lyrics that have taken on a changed meaning for him, a stronger one. He sings that it’s taking all he’s got, that he won’t give up, that he’s going to win this time. He aims the words of perseverance at the man watching him through the glass. Louis doesn’t say much, but Liam is pleased with the takes. Louis doesn’t meet his eye when he comes to listen to it all back. He fidgets, and Harry can tell he’s planning an escape when Liam mentions how much studio time is left.

“We’re done early, lads! Amazing, really. Well, not gonna waste the studio time, are we? What else can we work on? Lou, why don’t you show us some of the stuff you’ve been working on?”

Louis’ head snaps up to look at them, colour high in his cheeks as though he’s been caught out on something, which seems a bit odd. It’s not as though it’s a secret he’s been working on stuff with The 1975. It’s all over Instagram for fuck’s sake.

Louis fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “Oh, um. Okay. Yeah, I’ve been experimenting with some new equipment, and I—yeah I suppose I could recreate some of it here maybe—“ He trails off as he stands and nears the synthesizer and keyboards. He flips his laptop back open and gets a track ready there as well. Harry watches the look on Louis’ face change into one that holds a spark of excitement. And before it even begins, Harry resents it. The keyboards and drums drive the beat, and Liam bops his head and grins so hard his eyes crinkle in the corners. Harry resents him, too, for liking it.

“Lou! Fuck, mate this is magic! Obviously, I can feel their sonic influence on it, but I feel you there, too. And I’m assuming with lyrics, it will really sound more like you.” Liam pauses in thought for a moment. “The tone of this is so upbeat, uplifting almost. I’m almost afraid what the lyrics will be. I’m guessing not rainbows and sunshine.” Liam chuckles and then stops abruptly like he’s just realised Harry is still in the room, seated behind them and silent. Liam clears his throat. “Well, mate. Can’t wait to hear it when it’s done. Let me know if you want to work on it lyrically.”

“I might take you up on that, Liam,” Louis says softly. Harry is looking down at his boots, but he knows Louis’ eyes are on him and his lack of a response. He just can’t bring himself to give one. He can feel bitterness welling up in his throat, and he knows he can’t speak without anger. The air in the room feels heavy as Liam tries to dispel the tension with chattering and scheduling more studio time.

Harry sees Louis send a text, but he doesn’t appear to get an immediate response. They’ll be forced to return home together though, and Harry’s glad Louis doesn’t appear to have a ready excuse to escape him yet. They drive back in near deafening silence as Harry tries to think things through. The closer they get to the flat, the more urgent it becomes that he finds a way to keep Louis from fleeing the moment they return. He glances over as Louis taps at his phone. This isn’t how he planned for things to go when he got back.

He needs time with Louis—alone. It’s what he’s needed from him for a while, and it’s something Louis won’t give him. He can only seem to capture his attention in small pieces, only in the in between parts of his life. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

Louis looks up from his phone. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from—Um, no plans yet, I guess.”

“I thought maybe we could do something tomorrow.” Harry grips the steering wheel tightly. He keeps his eyes on the road, afraid to see Louis’ face as he tries to come up with an excuse not to be with him.

“Yeah, alright.” Louis says softly.

Harry glances over, but Louis is staring out the window.

///

Louis wakes to the sound of a clang somewhere in the flat. Bleary eyed, he wanders into the kitchen where Harry’s got the kettle on and bacon frying. His hair is held back in a bun, and he gives Louis an apologetic smile as he blows a few tendrils out of his face. “Sorry, dropped the pan.”

“It’s fine,” Louis says as he reaches to get a few cups out of the cupboard. He turns to set them on the counter and sees Harry turn back towards the bacon. Had he been watching him? He sets eggs next to Harry and takes out the bread for toast. They move around the kitchen in long familiar patterns. As Louis sets out dishes, Harry plates the food. As Louis makes the tea, Harry spreads butter and jam on the toast. Harry sits in the chair facing the living room. Louis sits opposite him just as they always do, but their practiced movements don’t hold the comfort they once did. They are quiet long enough for Harry to worry Louis plans to elude him today.

Louis stands up to take his plate to the sink, and Harry watches him, waiting for him to say he’s busy today, that he’s made plans without him. Louis faces away from him, and Harry’s eyes are drawn to the lines of Louis’ body. He’s never allowed himself to let his gaze linger quite like this before.

“So what are we doing today?”

Harry quickly averts his eyes. “I thought maybe we could go to the park, kick the football around.”

Louis looks over his shoulder at him with a smirk. “Really? You want to play footie?”

Harry smiles at him. “Yeah, I thought we’d go to Regent’s and let the pigeons be on my side.”

Louis laughs and turns all the way around at this. “Fuck those pigeons! Haz, you wanker! You know I hate when they flutter around. Disgusting.”

Harry shrugs, his grin only growing wider. “Only way I can make it an even playing field.”

Harry stands up and deposits his dishes in the sink as Louis heads out of the room calling, “Where’s my football at? In the closet?”

“I think it’s still in your bedroom, Lou.” Harry calls after him. The smile lingers on his face.

///

As they walk back to the car, Harry hopes that the lightness of the morning can continue, so he takes the chance that Louis will want to press on with their day. “A pint?”

“Yeah, okay. I could eat, too. Where to?”

An idea crosses Harry’s mind, and he says, “I know where we should go.”

Louis doesn’t ask, and Harry doesn’t say as he drives him across town towards the neighbourhood of their first flat together. Louis doesn’t seem to notice as he banters with him about his lack of football skills. He seems surprised when Harry parks the car. He begins to glance around and an odd look crosses his face. “Um, thought we could go to the pub we used to always go to. Great chips, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Louis says a bit stiffly.

They order a pint and food, and Harry desperately tries to hold onto the tenuous grip he has on this day. He keeps the conversation light. Football, skateboards, pigeons, Niall. Louis seems to relax back into the trivial talk between them.

Being back in the places that remind him of where their friendship began just makes Harry want to continue. His confidence in the day grows. As soon as they walk out of the pub, Harry says, “I know just where we should go next.”

Harry takes a chance that there will even be a movie playing at the small cinema they used to frequent when he didn’t have much money, and they’d share a popcorn if Harry had enough that week, since Louis always bought the tickets.. He’s relieved to see there’s a showing in fifteen minutes time. Louis glances at his phone, and Harry quickly engages his attention before he can be distracted by it.

As the lights dim, Louis turns his phone on vibrate, and Harry catches a look at a text from Matty that flashes across the screen.

            _Where are you? Come over_

Harry can feel tension run through his body. They sit in the dark of the cinema, and Harry is attuned to every movement Louis makes. Every tap of his foot, the movements of his fingers across the armrest, every fucking inhalation of air. He feels like he’s going mad.

He can’t concentrate on the film, so he keeps glancing over at Louis. Louis’ eyes never stray from the screen. Harry sighs and accidentally bumps Louis’ arm, and a rush of sensation dances across his skin. That’s—new. He looks down at his own body as though to ask it why things are different now. Why he can’t touch Louis without receiving an electric shock. Harry’s nerves are getting to him, and he’s almost relieved when the film ends. They share a small smile as they stand and stretch.

They walk out to find the weather’s turned to shit, fat raindrops pattering to the ground. It’s the rain that undoes all his progress with Louis. As Harry tries to think of something else for them to do together, it’s the rain that reminds him. They’d come to this cinema in the rain before, the day Louis had proposed the idea of living together. They’d been working together for about a week, and Harry really needed a place to stay. Louis had offered, and Harry had never left. They may have moved flats a time or two, but they’ve still never seriously discussed the possibility of living apart.

They begin walking briskly in the direction of Harry’s car, and later, he will remember this moment and know this was when it went too far. “Lou, this is right where you asked me if I wanted to move in with you.”

Louis stops dead in his tracks. Harry stops and turns to look at him. Louis is staring at him, horror written plainly across his handsome face. The rain is steadily soaking them as they stand in the street, life somehow paused in this moment of confusion for Harry. This is when Louis makes a run for it.

Harry stands there for a brief second in shock as Louis bolts away from him. “Louis!” He screams just once before he starts chasing after him. Sheets of rain come pouring down as if to further block his way. Louis has run in the opposite direction of the car, and Harry has no clue where he’s headed. People and umbrellas run interference until he’s left standing at the next corner, unsure of which way to turn. He staggers over to the side of a building and leans against it. Louis doesn’t want to see him. He knows where he’s probably gone off to, who he’s gone off to see. He slowly walks back to his car. He’s not sure he’s ever felt this defeated.

///

As soon as Louis starts running, he feels like he can’t get far enough away. He runs until his heart hammers in his chest and his lungs burn. The rain begins to come in waves, and still he runs. He knows this part of London like the back of his hand, and he runs down street after street until he’s nearly choking on his desperate need to be free of Harry.

He finally stops to catch his breath under the small overhang of a building. Louis apparently has one small strand of luck left as a taxi drives by slowly enough for him to motion for it. It pulls over, and Louis throws himself into the back seat. He gives him the address and tries to calm down.

He closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the seat. The adrenaline recedes, and exhaustion overtakes him. He nearly dozes off before they reach his destination. He walks up to the building and punches in the code and drags himself to the door to knock.

The door opens.

“Louis?”

He knows what he must look like right now, soaked through like a drowned rat and eyes rimmed red. He doubts even the rain could wash the anguish from his face. He collapses into Liam’s arms, and lets go. Liam holds him tightly as he lets the tears he’s been holding in fall freely down his face. Liam doesn’t ask. He doesn’t need to ask. And Louis is forever grateful he has Liam in his life. Liam finally gets him calmed down enough to borrow some dry clothes and curl up on the couch with a cup of tea. Liam just watches him, kindness and sympathy and worry line his face, but Louis sees no pity there just as he knew he wouldn’t. This also doesn’t mean that Liam won’t make him talk. “Lou? Are you ready to talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about? I’m still in love with Harry, and he’s—“ Louis bites off the sentence. “Do you know what we did today, Li? He took me around to all the places we used to go when we were writing that first album, and at first I didn’t get it. I thought we were just having fun, but then I saw how fucked up it all is. It almost felt like something more, like something you’d do with someone to show them where you fell in love. But that wasn’t it at all. He wants to go backwards. He wants to go back to when I hadn’t told him how I felt. Back to the beginning where no one gets hurt. It’s too late for that! Fuck, it was too late the day I met him. That’s how long I’ve been in love with him, Liam. Since the beginning. You were right about that, you know? Even if I wasn’t admitting it to myself then. I just—don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to get over him. Being apart from him didn’t work, and this sure as hell isn’t working.”

“I’m sorry, Lou. I know he’s got good intentions, but—“

Louis’ eyes narrow. “Fuck his good intentions, Liam.”

“I’m just saying that it doesn’t sound like you two are really talking about this. So maybe you don’t know the whole story.”

“He already knows how I feel. He obviously doesn’t feel the same, or he’d say it.” Louis says, his voice breaking slightly.  “What’s there to say to him, Li? Stop fucking breaking my heart? Leave me alone, so I can move on?”

“If that’s what you think it would take to move forward. I still think you’re not giving him a chance though.”

“A chance for what? To destroy me?” Louis lets out a bitter laugh. “You think I want to hear him say, Louis I can only love you as a friend? I have a tiny bit of pride left still, thank you.”

“A chance to tell you it’s not that simple. Look at what he’s writing, Louis! Does any of that seem simple to you? Has it ever? Who writes love songs about their best friend? Did that not ever strike you as odd? Of course, you’ve been doing the same, so maybe the two of you wankers thought it was all perfectly normal.” Liam shakes his head.

“That’s different.”

“It really isn’t,” Liam insists.

“He was just turning it into something it wasn’t. It wasn’t the truth.”

“Oh really? Well, if I hand you a guitar and a piece of paper right now, what do you suppose would come out?” Liam jumps up and marches over across the room to retrieve a guitar. He hands it over wordlessly to Louis.

Louis doesn’t take it. He walks over and sits at the piano. “You take the guitar. Well, where’s the paper then? Let’s not do this halfway.”

Liam gets paper and a pen and opens his laptop. Louis watches him set it all up to record.

Louis takes a couple experimental attempts that Liam follows before he tries out some lyrics.

            _You’ve got a hold of me_

_Don’t even know your power_

_I stand a hundred feet_

_But I fall when I’m around you_

He stops and looks back at Liam. Liam nods and plays it back as Louis jots down the lyrics quickly. They replay that bit and try out more

            _Show me an open door_

_Then you go and slam it on me_

_I can’t take anymore_

He doesn’t have a chorus yet, and Liam stays silent. So he keeps working on verses.

            _I’m not asking for a lot_

_Just that you’re honest with me_

_My pride is all I got_

Liam plays on into what could be the chorus, and they play it again without words. And then Liam sings.

            _Please have mercy on me_

_Take it easy on my heart_

And Louis knows the answers.

            _Even though you don’t mean to hurt me_

_You keep tearing me apart_

Liam plays it back as Louis scribbles down what they have, and Liam repeats the refrain as a question before Louis adds in the next piece.

            _I’m a puppet on your strings_

_And even though you got good intentions_

_I need you to set me free_

They play back the chorus a few times before Louis can hear the bridge open up inside him.

            _Consuming all the air inside my lungs_

_Ripping all the skin from off my bones_

Liam winces at his words. And when Louis changes the last refrain to actually beg for mercy. Liam stands up and paces the room. “Jesus.”

Louis watches him. “Enough truth for you, Liam?”

Liam swings back around to face him. “You know you’re only proving me right, don’t you?”

Louis ignores that and looks back at the lyrics. “Let’s put it together. A full take this time.”

“Sure,” Liam grimaces. “If I can fucking make it through it without crying.”

Louis gives him a small, sad smile. “I hear you on that one, Liam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song references:
> 
> Fool's Gold (One Direction)-Niall records this song in the studio.
> 
> The Sound (The 1975)-Matty plays back this song written by Louis.
> 
> Mercy (Shawn Mendes)-Louis writes this song with Liam at Liam's flat.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry sits silently in a chair. The flat is so quiet, he can hear the drops of water puddling on the floor beneath him. He tells himself he’ll stand up in a minute. He can feel his t-shirt cling wetly to his back and chest. His jeans are heavy and uncomfortable soaked through like this. He stares at the kitchen clock watching the seconds tick by in a never ending march. He concentrates on them, so he doesn’t have to think about anything else.

When his phone buzzes, he snaps out of his haze and scrambles to check it. His heart beats to the name in his mind,  _ Louis Louis Louis. _

It’s just Gemma, and he sinks back into the chair. He can’t talk to her right now. He can’t talk to anyone. He’s not sure how he’s managed to screw this up so badly. He’s trying though. He’s trying so fucking hard to figure this out, and Louis can’t even give him a day. Not even one fucking day of his time to try to work out what’s happening between them. 

At the first sign it’s hard, he’s run off back to Matty. Bitterness begins to burn through him. The thought of Louis there with Matty, giving him his time, his attention, his music, his soul, makes him want to put his fist through a wall. Maybe square into Matty’s smug face. He hates feeling like a job for Louis now. It’s never felt like that before. It should always have been complicated. Their friendship and work relationship should always have been a problem, but it wasn’t. It just wasn’t. The love and commitment of their friendship always overshadowed the work. To watch Louis drag himself into the studio, to sit silently, to escape as soon as possible, makes Harry’s guts twist. Bile rises in his throat, and he feels a burning need to lash out at something or someone.

He doesn’t care how fair or unfair it is to have these thoughts, and he writes them down anyway. Water stains the pages as he scratches down the words burning through him.

He hears the way he wants the sounds of the synthesizer.

He hears the way he wants the bass to sound.

He hears the way he wants the drums to beat.

He hears the way it borrows from Matty, and he’s glad. He’s bitter and glad to use him to get to Louis.

He texts Liam and asks him to set up studio time for tomorrow. He’s sure Louis isn’t coming home tonight. If he doesn’t make Louis schedule him in, Louis will just stay away. It makes him feel desperate and ugly to be forcing this, but right now he just doesn’t care. He plays the song over and over and over again, punishing himself with it. He finally makes a rough recording of it when he can’t stand to sing it even once more.

His wet clothes have mostly dried whilst he has worn them, leaving them stiff and uncomfortable. He peels them off his body and paces the room, stretching his aching muscles. He knows sleep won’t come for him like this, so he dresses for the gym and heads to the seventh floor of the building. He runs on the treadmill until his legs burn; he lifts weights and does press ups until his arms go numb. He must look a bit off because no one talks to him, not even a greeting.

He comes back to their empty flat and takes a hot shower that he only realises later was too hot. He stares at his pink skin through the foggy mirror. He wipes the mirror with the swipe of a hand and looks at himself as though he no longer recognises the reflection. He’s spent so much of his pent up energy in the gym over the past few months that he hasn’t truly realised the extent of the changes in his body. The large muscles across his shoulders, the defined ones across his stomach, the thickness of his thighs. He stretches out his arms and suddenly imagines what it might be like for Louis to see him like this.

If Louis were to walk in and see, what would he do? If Louis is in love with him, or  _ was  _ in love with him, he must have imagined this—being with Harry like this. Would he run his hands over the solid muscles of his shoulders and down his chest? He runs his own hand down his body, imagining Louis’ in its place. His cock is hardening at the thought of Louis’ hand replacing his own as he lets his fingers slide down his stomach. He closes his eyes, so he can better pretend it’s not his own fingers curling around himself. Would Louis touch slowly and softly? Or would his touch be tight and possessive? With the first lingering stroke, his brain goes hazy. He lets his mind stray even further into the fantasy and thinks about how he would fit their mouths together, how he would nip at Louis’ ear and neck, how he would plunge his cock in and out of Louis’ smaller fist.  He groans as he speeds up his strokes now. He imagines picking Louis up and setting him on this counter, fucking him in front of this mirror where he could watch himself claim Louis over and over again. He comes hard into his hand, growling out Louis’ name as he comes.

He braces himself on the sink and tries to keep the song he wrote out of his head, but it’s there, lurking. He sang it too many times for it to leave him tonight, so it stays, mocking him with the bitter lies it tells along with the bitter truths. The song follows him around the flat as he tries to eat and watch telly and do laundry. It curls up beside him as he tries to go to sleep, still listening for the sound of Louis to return.

Louis doesn’t come home.

///

When Harry walks into the studio, Liam and Louis are already there. Whatever chatter that was happening dies the second he steps into the room. Louis doesn’t even look up at him, and Liam’s smile holds a strain. He tries to smile at Liam, but he’s not sure he succeeds. He focuses in on Louis. Harry notices all the details of him, just as he always has. He sees the rigid lines of his back and shoulders, the dark circles beneath his eyes, the nervous twitch of his fingers, the rhythmic tapping of his leg against the chair. He sees the unfamiliar clothing, grey trackies and a black t-shirt that hangs off of him loosely. They don’t look like things Matty Healy would wear, and he wonders where they came from.

“So you have a song for us, Haz?” Liam asks. Liam’s look pleads with him, and Harry wonders why. His heart seems to be vibrating at a strange frequency as he pulls out his laptop. His fingers fumble as he tries to pull up the recording. He forgets why he thought this was a good idea, forcing Louis to be here and listen to his angry thoughts thinly disguised as a pop song.

“I have some ideas for the music after you listen,” he says as he glances at Louis who is still resolutely averting his eyes. “Sort of inspired by all the sounds Louis has been experimenting with.”

At this, Louis’ eyes snap up to look at Harry, and Harry remembers why he’s doing this. This is how he can keep Louis’ attention. He clicks play, and he hears the first few sad, haunting lines of the song.

_So I heard you found somebody else_

_             And at first I thought it was a lie _

Harry hears his voice catch on the words. The air in the room feels heavy as Harry tries to push it in and out of his lungs.

_               I took all my things that make sounds _

_              The rest I can do without _

He knows Louis is concentrating. He can tell by how Louis folds his hands pressed against his lips. He sees the moment Louis hears the next bitter lines and the way Louis’ entire body stiffens in reaction to them.

_I don't want your body_

_             But I hate to think about you with somebody else _

_             Our love has gone cold _

_             You're intertwining your soul with somebody else _

He watches the red flush creep from Louis’ chest, exposed from the too large neckline of his shirt, up into his neck and face. Louis hands move to clench into fists on his thighs.

_            I'm looking through you while you're looking through your phone _

_            And then leaving with somebody else _

_            No, I don't want your body _

_            But I'm picturing your body with somebody else _

Harry is starting to regret this. He cringes as he hears the way his voice changes from those first sad lines into something with false nonchalance, but when the bitterness of his voice in the next lines rings out in the small space, he knows he’s gone too far.

_           Get someone you love? _

_          Get someone you need? _

_          Fuck that _

_         Get money _

_         I can't give you my soul _

_         Cause we're never alone _

Louis jumps up from his chair as if he’s been burned. The look on Louis’ face is one Harry is sure will sear itself into his memory forever. The chair stands between them in this charged moment until Louis’ hand slams into it, toppling it onto its side. Harry feels like his skin is on fire as Louis stares at him with accusation and anger, and then, Louis lunges forward to grab at the front of Harry’s shirt. Harry’s forgotten Liam is even in the room until he’s suddenly between them.

“What do you want from me? Do you even know what you want?” Louis snarls as Liam holds him fast in a tight hold, offering both protection and comfort. Harry wonders if this is what going into shock feels like. His feet feel bolted to the floor, and he has no way of answering when he can’t seem to make a sound. “You don’t treat me like a friend, Harry! You never did. You can’t write all these bloody songs about me and then pretend that’s all it is. Have you asked yourself why all your songs are about  _ me _ ? I can’t keep pretending that’s all we are. You know that’s not all it is to me!” Harry watches as Louis’ anger seems to deflate into something else, something that looks like defeat.  “You  _ know _ , Harry,” he says brokenly, and at that he pushes away from Liam and heads straight for the door. He’s escaping again, and suddenly, Harry regains his power of speech.

The only thing Harry can think of is to say something to stop Louis from leaving even if it’s anger that could make him stay. “Just fucking run away again then, Lou! You do it so well!”

Louis stops in the doorway and looks back for just a moment, his eyes narrowed. “Fuck you, Harry.”

This time Harry doesn’t chase after him though. He lets him leave. He leans against the wall and lets it hold him upright. He turns just his head to look over at Liam, who is watching him, eyebrows furrowed.

“I do ask myself about it, you know? About my songs, I mean. I know he and I aren’t just friends.”

“What are you, then?”

Harry doesn’t answer. He releases a long breath. “I’m sorry you’re in the middle of this, Liam.”

The air still feels charged. “Me, too,” Liam says with a sigh.  “I’ll take a look at the song for you, okay? I see you left some notes here for us. Why don’t you go home, yeah?”

Harry pulls himself off the wall. “Yeah, okay. I guess I’m not really in the right frame of mind to work on it anymore.”

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“If you find him, promise me you two will talk.”

Harry makes a noncommittal grunt as he makes his way to the door.

“That didn’t sound like a yes.”

Harry looks back at him. “I’ll try. If I can stop him from running away from me first.” 

///

Harry ignores all the texts on his phone. Gemma, Nick, Ed, Niall. He can’t face any of them at the moment. Not with everything so fucked up between he and Louis. It will be the first thing any of them will think of when they talk to him, and he just can’t do it right now. He dreads going back to their empty flat, so he drives a meandering route home. It doesn’t take long enough. He honestly has no clue what to do now. He still has some residual anger left from his song, although playing it for Louis may have been a mistake.

He drags himself from the car to the building, from the building to the elevator, from the elevator to their flat. He walks in and immediately knows Louis is there. The stillness of an empty flat is missing, and he hears a muffled thump from the direction of Louis’ bedroom. He walks quickly to the bedroom door and hears Louis let out a curse as he stuffs a hoodie into a bag laying on his bed.

“What are you doing?”

Louis whirls around, clearly unaware Harry was home. He doesn’t answer him, his jaw clenching as he stuffs a pair of trackies into the bag, too.

Harry strides across the room and pulls the bag out of his hands. “No.”

Louis turns to him, incredulous. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, no, you’re not leaving.” Harry thrusts his hand into the bag and starts unpacking it forcefully on the bed.

“Give me that,” Louis insists as he tries to wrench the bag from Harry’s grip.

“No, you’re not going anywhere. You’re not running off to Matty again.” Harry doesn’t release it and tugs it back towards him.

“You can’t tell me what to do, Harry. Give me the fucking bag.” Louis’ teeth clench, and he pulls the bag back towards him. “You know what? Fuck it. Keep it, Harry.” He releases the bag and starts walking towards the bedroom door when he feels Harry’s hand wrap around his bicep and push him up against the wall.

Louis gasps in surprise. “What the—“

Harry isn’t sure how he got here, pinning Louis to the wall, but he doesn’t care as long as he can keep Louis from leaving.  He has no clue if something is going on between Louis and Matty, but he can’t stand the thought of Louis spending yet another night with him. Louis’ eyes spit fire as he looks up at Harry, but Harry can’t let him go.

Since Harry’s words never make him stay, he doesn’t use any, but he releases the tight grip he has on Louis’ wrists, letting him have a moment to back out. Instead, Harry watches mesmerized as Louis’ eyes dilate, and the power of that response makes Harry dizzy with want.

He presses his body against Louis and captures his lips in a punishing kiss. He hears Louis’ small whimper as he slides his tongue between Louis’ lips, deepening it. Louis’ hands stay trapped between them as he clutches Harry’s shirt before he runs his fingers up Harry’s chest. It reminds Harry of the mirrored fantasy of Louis’ touch, and he finds the reality of Louis’ touch is so much better than the fantasy. Louis’ fingers move up into his hair until he’s threading them through the strands at the nape of Harry’s neck, and Harry feels the jolt of his touch run through his body.  He uses his hands to cup Louis’ arse and presses his body up against his now hard cock. He can feel Louis’ body respond to him, so he takes the chance of leaving Louis’ lips to let his tongue and teeth follow a new path. Louis turns his head to allow him better access to the vulnerable skin of his neck, and Harry feels the intense need to claim Louis overpower any other thought. He moves his hands to hitch Louis’ leg up and over one hip and then the other. Louis moves willingly, following Harry’s lead as the pressure of Harry’s erection against his jeans pains him.

Too many clothes. This is Harry’s thought as he recaptures Louis’ lips to distract him as he moves away from the wall carrying him back towards the bed. He feels like his control is hanging by mere threads as he backs up to the bed and sits on the edge before quickly pushing Louis onto his back. He’s desperate to keep Louis from thinking this through. He looms over him, kissing him until his head spins. He lets his fingers creep under the fabric of Louis’ shirt until it’s pulled up his chest, releasing his lips for only as long as it takes to rip the shirt up and over his head. As soon as the borrowed shirt is gone he lets himself have free reign over the tattoo inked across Louis’ chest and presses his fingers against Louis’ arms, holding him in place on the bed.

He doesn’t look into Louis’ eyes. He’s afraid to see what’s there, good or bad. He releases Louis’ arms only so he can move further down Louis’ body, sucking a bruise to Louis’ hip as he pulls Louis’ dick from his trackies and wrenches them down over his bum. They catch around Louis’ ankles, but Harry is more concerned about getting his mouth on Louis as quickly as possible. He rapidly disposes of his own clothing before he licks a stripe up the underside of Louis, and Louis lets out a low moan. It spurs Harry on. He gets Louis’ clothing completely out of the way as he takes more of Louis into his mouth. He chances a glance up at Louis’ face and sees him propped up on his elbows looking down at him, his eyes looking a bit glazed until he meets Harry’s stare. He immediately shuts his eyes, closing the small window between them, and Harry sees one lone tear sneak out of the corner of Louis’ eye.  An arrow slices straight through Harry’s heart.

He scrambles back up the bed until he’s face to face with Louis again. “Lou?” he asks hoarsely.

“Please.” Louis says. He doesn’t open his eyes.

“Are you sure?”

Another tear slips out, and Harry knows this is all wrong. He’s ready to stop this, but Louis turns and reaches for the drawer of the nightstand. He takes out condoms and a small bottle of lube. Neither of them have been opened, and Harry isn’t sure what to make of that. Before he can ask more questions, Louis pulls him down on top of him, and Harry’s protestations die quickly at the feeling of Louis’ body beneath his own. He slicks up his fingers before opening Louis up quickly, one finger then two. He’s about to add a third when Louis grips his wrist tightly, and Harry looks at him to see if he’s decided to stop this from happening. But instead, Louis releases his wrist and rips open the condom from the wrapper. Harry pulls his fingers from the warmth of Louis’ body. He sit up on his knees and reaches for the condom, but Louis doesn’t let him. Louis grips him and Harry gasps to finally have Louis’ hands where he’s imagined them. He slides the condom onto Harry himself. Before Harry can do anything more, Louis immediately positions himself on his hands and knees. Harry wants to protest, wants to say that he wants to watch Louis’ reactions, but in this moment he can’t make himself say much of anything. Harry lines himself up before slowly pushing inside of Louis. Louis gasps at the intrusion, and Harry moves slowly until he hears Louis panting and moaning. He keeps his body close to Louis, his arms bracing themselves on either side of his body as he fucks up into him. His sweat drips down onto the tight muscles of Louis’ back. He moves faster and faster, chasing after the noises he hears Louis make beneath him. He wraps an arm around Louis and brings their bodies even closer together as he thrusts, finally wrapping his fingers around Louis’ cock as he feels his own orgasm begin to build. He strokes him roughly a few times and Louis comes with a lingering moan as Harry thrusts once more before he feels himself fill the condom inside Louis’ body. He rests his forehead on Louis’ back for a moment before he pulls out and lays beside him on the bed. He rolls his head to the side to look at Louis, but Louis’ face is turned away from him. He watches Louis slowly rise from the bed and gingerly walk towards the loo as though he can still feel where Harry has been inside him. It gives Harry an ugly sense of satisfaction and possession. It doesn’t last. Louis doesn’t look at him as he emerges from the loo fully dressed.

“Lou?” He calls out, but Louis has already made it through the bedroom and out to the door of their flat before Harry’s brain can catch up with what’s happening. Harry jumps off the bed and quickly slides the condom off and ties it, throwing it in the direction of a trash can. He runs naked through the flat and makes it to the living room in time to see Louis frantically putting his shoes half on as he flings open the door.

“No!” Harry yells out, but Louis doesn’t even turn around as he slams the door behind him. Even as Harry races back to his own bedroom to throw on a pair of joggers, he knows he’s too late. Louis is gone. and that’s when Harry realises Louis said only one solitary word as Harry touched him. 

‘Please.’


	11. Chapter 11

Early morning rays of light shine through Harry’s bedroom window, mocking him. How can this day have bright sunlight? London weather is usually on his side when it comes to having a shit day. Even London is against him. He doesn’t try to go back to sleep. No point even bothering really. The few restless hours he managed to sleep will have to suffice. He rolls to the side of his bed and checks his phone.

There’s no response to the dozens of text messages and voicemails he left Louis. There’s not even a response from the few he sent Liam. There’s one from Niall though.

            _Hey mate. Sorry I didn’t see this until this morning. Recording some new stuff today with Li and Tommo. You wanna come hear it?_

Harry immediately responds and asks for the time. He grimly takes a shower and tries to keep busy as he counts down the hours until it’s time to meet Niall in the studio. He feels a small twinge of guilt that he’s going to barge in, but he really doesn’t feel like he has much choice. He has to talk to Louis. He can’t possibly make things any worse than they already are. He’s got to at least try now to talk to him. He desperately wishes he could have been able to say he was in love with Louis all those months ago. It could all have been different. He wishes he hadn’t had to learn his heart the hard way, piece by broken piece. He’s given each one away to Louis, and now it feels like he has none left for himself.

He calls for a car. He doesn’t want to chance showing up at the studio before Louis and have him see his car there. He isn’t completely convinced Louis wouldn’t just up and leave if he thinks Harry is there. He makes himself wait until he’s sure they all would have arrived. He walks slowly towards studio three. He’s used to feeling excitement and joy heading into this studio, but all he feels now is fear in the pit of his stomach. He has to keep moving forward. He’s in love with a stubborn arse of a boy who won’t stand still long enough for him to explain.

He opens the door to the studio just as he hears Niall speak. “Oh yeah, I told Harry to show up and hear the new stuff—“

Harry tries his best to walk in normally, but the last time they were here Liam literally had to step between him. He sees Liam tense up in his chair first because he can’t bring himself to meet Louis’ eye. He opens his mouth to say hello or anything really, but he glances Louis’ way and is struck mute by the way Louis looks. He’s wearing the same clothes he left their flat in the night before. He clearly got about as much sleep as Harry did based on the darkness beneath his eyes and the taut lines around his mouth, his hair ruffled haphazardly. He looks exhausted and wounded and yet so lovely it hurts to look at him, and Harry just wants to go home. He wants what they once had and the fragile beginning of something that he can’t seem to get right. This is what home means to him now, maybe what it has always meant to him. It means Louis in the flat making tea, it means Louis’ voice calling out his name with a laugh, it means Louis borrowing his t-shirts and never returning them, it means staying in curled up on the sofa with Netflix, it means kissing him with the desperation of a man who just wants him to stay. It means all of it and everything that Louis is to him. And while these are all the things in Harry’s heart, he doesn’t see any of sign of the same written on Louis’ face.

His reverie is interrupted by Niall’s whirlwind of chatter and movement as he talks about the songs he’s going to record. Harry is only half listening as Niall tells him the first one is called ‘Fools Gold.’ Niall heads back into the sound booth and picks up his guitar. Harry hears the lilting chords before Niall sings, “I’m like a crow on a wire—“ Harry’s ear is instantly attuned to the beauty of the song. He listens intently and knows who wrote this. He knows who this song is about, and god, it hurts to hear Louis’ hopelessness in these beautiful words.  He sinks into a chair, unable to hold himself upright.  His fingers tremble on his thighs from emotion and exhaustion in equal parts. He chances a glance at Louis. There’s resignation in the way Louis returns his stare. If Louis played a hand months ago drunk on tequila shots, now all his cards are laid face up on the table. Harry feels desperate to know when he wrote this. He wants to beg Louis to tell him if he’s still not done yet, and he can’t help the hope that begins to bloom in his chest.

Louis stays silent as Liam gives Niall direction on what to try next as they record more takes of parts of the song. He can sense Louis’ agitation grow as his words are repeated over and over, battering away at both of them. Louis finally stands up abruptly. “Need a smoke,” he croaks out. Harry doesn’t let him get far. He’s right on his heels as he exits the room.

“Wait. Please. We need to talk.”

Louis stops without turning around to face him. Harry takes a halting step towards him and wonders how he will say all the things he needs to say. What words will fix this? What words will make Louis smile again? What words will bring Louis back into his arms?

He doesn’t get the chance to find out. A loud ruckus emerges from studio two, and Matty bursts down the corridor with George tucked under an arm. George stumbles along, half bent over to accommodate their height differences.

“Was just coming to fetch you, Lou Lou!” Matty announces as he staggers back to release George. Harry bristles at the nickname nearly as much as the interruption. He feels like he must be going a bit mad to want to throw Louis over his shoulder and away from any enemy who wants to get between them. He can’t stop himself from stepping closer to Louis. Louis instinctively glances back at him.

Matty eyes them for a moment. He must sense something because he gives an odd look at Harry before he says, “Harry, you can come along as well.” Harry is on edge before they even enter the studio.

“Lou’s here! Play back his song for him!” Matty shouts out as soon as they make it inside the room.

Harry darts a look at Louis. He sees a wince cross Louis’ face, and he knows he isn’t going to like what he hears.

The song has such an upbeat catchiness, an unabashedly pop sound to it, but Harry knows enough about The 1975 and Matty to listen to the lyrics.

_Well, I know when you’re around ‘cause I know the sound_

_I know the sound of your heart_

He watches Matty’s face as they listen back to the song. Matty stares right back at him, a hint of defiance in his gaze that Harry doesn’t like at all.

_You’re so conceited, I said “I love you”_

_What does it matter if I lie to you?_

Harry’s head snaps back at the bitterness inherent in the lyrics to look at Louis who is resolutely not returning his look.

_I don’t regret it but I’m glad that we’re through_

_So don’t you tell me that you just don’t get it, ‘cause I know you do_

Harry can’t quite breathe properly. Was it really only minutes ago hope had led him on, thinking he could fix this with a few words?

_We left things to protect my mental health_

_But you call me when you’re bored and you’re playing with yourself_

Harry has heard enough. His humiliation feels complete now, and the adrenaline that pumps through his body is either going to lead him to punch Matty in his smug face or to get the fuck out of the building. He chooses to fling the door open, and somehow his legs at least are obeying his brain enough to get him quickly through the corridors and out into the street.

///

Louis stares down at his hands. He braces them on his knees and tries not to vomit. He hears the buzz of voices and music, but he can’t make out any of it really. He’s not slept, and he’s so tired that his head spins a bit. How in the hell has he let all this happen? He feels like the worst fuck up. He’s hurt Harry now, and somehow that feels like the worst part of it.

“Lou?” Matty is snapping his fingers in front of his face.

Louis pushes them out of his face. “Fuck. What?”

“You look poorly. Are you going to topple off the chair?”

“No. Well, maybe.” He tries to sit back upright.

Matty is eying him curiously now. “What’s going on? Harry’s gone off in a huff, and you look shit.”

Louis rubs his face with one hand. “I didn’t get much sleep. Or any sleep, really. I—fucked up.”

“Why? What did you do?”

Louis glances around at the others in the room, and Matty understands the gesture. “Going out for a smoke, boys. Be back.” Matty takes him by the arm and leads him around back where they can smoke. They smoke in silence for a few minutes.

“So are you going to tell me what’s happened or am I going to have to pry the information from you bit by bit?”

“Um, well, Harry and I—we got into an argument.” Louis clears his throat. “And I—left.”

Matty raises an eyebrow. “I feel like I’m missing some vital information to this story, Lou Lou.”

“Well, I didn’t like the song he wrote,” Louis replies.

“Ah, okay. Great reason to argue.”

“The song was about me.”

“For fuck’s sake, am I really going to have to pry every detail out of you? Or will it suffice to say that Harry did what he always does? Wants everything from you, and then what do you get in return, Louis?”

“Right, well the argument was a bit more about how confused things are between us and—“  Louis fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “I—we—slept together. And then I left and went to Liam’s.”

“Jesus, you’ve lost the plot.” Matty says with a shake of his head. “So you slept with him then? Like the real thing? Full out—“

“I let him fuck me on my bed. Is that what you wanted to know? I’ve cocked up everything, and now he’s heard a rude song I wrote about him and for what? All because he can’t feel the same as I do about him? It’s a bit shit innit? To do that to your best friend?”

Matty pulls a face just as Liam walks out the back of the building. “You’ve been out here ages,” Liam says. “Where’d you come from? And where’s Harry?”

“He fled the scene of the crime,” Matty replies, ignoring the first question.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Liam asks.

“Um, he heard a song I’d been working on with Matty. It wasn’t exactly my finest moment.”

“Well, actually the song is bloody fantastic, definite hit,” Matty declares. “As far as a personal moment, probably not as fantastic.”

Liam sighs. “So it wasn’t enough he had to sit through ‘Fool’s Gold?’ He had to listen to more?”

Matty lets out a rude noise. “You made that poor bastard sit through ‘Fool’s Gold’ and then come listen to mine? Savage.”

Louis stands up. “Yeah, I’m going to go home, Li. I don’t think I’m much use to anyone today.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Liam agrees. “Assuming that’s where Harry’s gone off to, I hope you’re at least going to talk to him.”

“Yeah. I will. We should probably talk.”

Liam gives him a sympathetic smile. “Maybe stop letting your songs do all your talking for you, Lou. They’re great for the moment, to release whatever is pent up inside you, but not so great for communicating with your best friend.”

///

Louis stands outside the door to their flat. He rests his forehead against it, building up his courage before he goes inside. He can’t actually hear Harry inside the flat, but somehow he just knows that he’s there. He can feel the pull between them even through the walls that separate them.

With a resigned sigh, he opens the door quietly. He stands just inside the flat and sees Harry whip around from the sink in the kitchen at his entrance. He must surely feel the pull, too.

Harry’s eyes are rimmed red, but Louis can’t help but think how beautiful he looks with the light from the window shining in from behind him. “Hi.”

“Hi. We should probably—talk.”

“You think?” Harry lets out a bitter laugh.

Louis flinches. He walks over to the sofa and sinks into it. He’s so very tired, but he has to at least try to explain himself. Harry walks over and sits next to him, leaving some space between them. “Harry, I just want to say that I’m really sorry. It’s not your fault that I’m in love with you, and you don’t feel the same. I’m sorry if I’ve somehow made you the villain in this because you’re not. I’m trying though. God, I’ve been trying, Harry.”

Harry looks at him, his hands gripping at his hair in distress. “Trying? How are you trying, Louis? By pushing me away? By not speaking to me? How is that trying? How is that you trying to make me fall in love with you?”

Louis looks a bit bewildered. “What? I’m not—Harry, I’ve been trying to get over you. Not make you fall in love with me. I know I haven’t been fair to you, but I’m trying so hard to move on and make some kind of life for myself without you.”

Tears well up in Harry’s eyes. “Lou, I don’t want you to get over me! I don’t want you to move on without me! I don’t want you to have some life without me in it!”

Fuck, why can’t Louis just get this one thing right.  “Harry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I have to get over you first before I can try to just be your friend again.”

“I don’t want you to just be my friend, Louis!” Harry pleads.  “For fuck’s sake! Were we ever? Were we ever just friends?”

“What are you saying? I don’t know. No, I guess not, but it’s confusing--”

“ _You’re_ confused? You won’t even give me a chance. You say you’re in love with me, you have sex with me, and then you don’t even give me a chance to tell you how I feel. You push me away over and over. You’re breaking my heart, Louis. I don’t want you to be over me because I’ll never be over you.”

The tears welled up in Harry’s eyes begin to slip down his face, and Louis would do anything to stop them from falling.

“Please don’t cry, Harry,” he says, his voice breaking. He wishes he wasn’t so tired, so that he could at the very least find the words to stop Harry’s tears. He wipes the tears on one side with the sweep of his thumb as he looks into the face that he’s loved for so long. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t cry. Tell me how to fix this, and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.”

Harry captures his hands with his own. “I just want _you_ , Louis. I just want to be with you.” Harry seems to be searching his face for something. “Love, you look so tired. Can I just—hold you?”

Louis has felt strangely adrift, and now, he’s hearing words he’s longed to hear, words he thought he would probably never hear. He looks down at their entwined hands, and it anchors him. His eyelids droop as Harry leads him back to his bedroom. Louis can’t help but remember what they did in this room yesterday, but he tries to not let his mind go there even as Harry quietly strips the clothes off his body. Even as tired as Louis is, every brush of Harry’s fingertips leaves a small spark behind it. Harry leaves his pants on him and pulls back the duvet for Louis to climb beneath. Louis keeps his eyes open long enough to watch Harry peel off his own clothing before climbing in next to him. He feels the warmth of Harry’s body slide alongside his own, and Harry’s strong arms holding him securely. And then, finally, he sleeps.

///

Harry feels when the rhythmic rise and fall of Louis’ chest falters for a brief moment beneath his fingers. He had drifted off soon after Louis did, but he’s been awake now for a while, content to hold on to the feeling of Louis in his arms as the sky darkens and evening sets in. Louis stirs a bit more, and Harry loosens his hold so that Louis can turn to face him. His blue eyes are reduced to drowsy slits, but they’re definitely looking at him. Harry smiles at his beautiful boy, and Louis returns it with one of his own. He watches Louis’ face as a series of emotions crosses it.

“Lou?” Harry whispers.

Louis’ eyes open a bit wider, and the smile on his face widens, too. Louis shuffles towards him a bit, so Harry tightens his hold on him as Louis touches the tip of his nose to Harry’s. It amazes Harry that this small gesture could make his heart race like it is, and he can’t seem to help that his reaction to it is to taste Louis’ lips. Louis returns the kiss, but he pulls back after just a moment as Harry’s lips chase the ghost of their kiss through the air.

Louis widens the space between them, and Harry’s heart flips over.

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“Last night you said that I wasn’t giving you the chance to tell me how you feel. And I just—well, I want to give you the space to figure things out if—“

“No, no space, please. I’ve had enough space,” Harry insists. He pulls Louis back to him as if even the small amount of distance between their bodies is too much for him.

Louis huffs out a small laugh. “Okay, I just want to make sure I’m giving you what you need, Harry because I actually don’t know how you got here to the place where you want to be with me and—“

“Louis, I want you to give me a chance. That’s what I want—a chance to catch up with you. I love you, Louis. I’m _in_ love with you, and the only thing I’m still trying to figure out is how long I’ve been in love with you.”

Harry watches mesmerised as something like happiness diffuses across Louis’ face. His small smile grows into a wider one as he tucks his face away from Harry as if to hide the emotion he must know is showing on it. His eyes crinkle at the corners, the way Harry most loves to see them even if it does hide some of the blue away from him. It’s worth that small loss to know Louis is happy enough to smile that wide.

Harry makes a small noise of protest as he cups Louis’ jaw with his large hand. “Want to see you, Lou.” He drags his thumb across Louis’ bottom lip and sees Louis’ eyes darken. When they focus on his lips, he can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop, the pull between them. Harry brushes his lips in feather soft strokes across Louis’ lips. He nuzzles their noses together gently, and Louis laughs quietly against his lips.

He wants to touch every part of Louis. He wants him in every way there is to want. He pulls his arm out from beneath him so that he can brush Louis’ soft hair back and off his face. He presses a kiss there and then one to his adorable boop of a nose.

“Really, Harry? Boop of a nose?”

Oh, he must have said that out loud. Harry shushes him with his lips, pressing them to Louis’ only briefly before he kisses across his jaw until his lips reach the soft skin under Louis’ ear. He hears the sharp intake of Louis’ breath as he nips gently before letting his lips slide to the dip of his collarbone. They find the ink across his chest just before he moves to push Louis onto his back and to press light kisses down the middle of his body. Louis’ fingers reach down and tangle themselves amid Harry’s curls. It shoots a lightning bolt of sensation through Harry, and he groans as he captures Louis’ wrists in his hands and quickly pins them above his head.

Louis is stretched out before him, his eyes wide, and Harry is so very captivated. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.” Louis’s eyes burn as Harry presses a kiss into Louis’ palm and then down his arm. Louis laughs when Harry reaches a spot that tickles a bit, but he stops when Harry’s hard dick presses against his own and his laughs turn to gasps. He bucks his hips up, but Harry presses him back down into the bed.

“Harry?” He croaks out. “Please.”

“But Lou, I’m not done yet.”

“Not done with what? This is torture. Just want you.”

“I’m showing you, Lou. I’m showing you exactly how I feel about you. I want you to know. I want you to hear it. I want you to feel it.” Harry releases his wrists so that he can continue his journey down Louis’ body. His lips follow the trail of hair until he reaches his pants. Louis moans as he noses along Louis’ hardness through the thin cotton before he pulls his pants down under his arse. He leaves Louis exposed as he continues down Louis’ body. He clutches Louis’ tight thighs as his tongue tastes them. He uses his teeth and tongue and lips to further mark his exploration down Louis’ muscled legs until he reaches his ankles. “God, Louis. Even your ankles are beautiful.” Harry presses his lips reverently to the small tattoo there before he draws himself back up to Louis’ face.

He looks into Louis’ glazed eyes and then the reigns of control he’s been keeping close begin to loosen. His heart tightens, and he needs Louis to know that he belongs to Harry and that Harry belongs to him, that they belong together. He licks into Louis’ mouth and kisses him hard. His body presses Louis’ into the bed as he feels Louis’ response against his belly. Harry leans back from the kiss to look at Louis’ face and admire his red, bitten lips and cheeks flushed with desire. He slides his hand down to palm at Louis’ cock between them, and Louis again bucks up into his hand with a loud groan. Harry slides his fingers up and down the length of him, learning by touch the way he hadn’t had the chance to before.

Louis gasps his name, and it’s the most glorious sound Harry’s ever heard. He needs to hear that again and over and over. He quickly opens the drawer of the bedside table and slicks up his fingers. He keeps himself eye to eye with Louis as he lays close beside him, passing a finger gently over Louis’ hole. Louis grips at his shoulders, looking into Harry’s eyes, and gasps again as Harry slowly presses a finger inside. Harry wants everything to be different this time. He wants Louis to let this moment replace any other in his mind. He needs Louis to know this time how in love he is with him.

He kisses Louis long and deep as his finger presses in and out. He adds another and he feels Louis’ gasp against his lips. Louis is rocking back and forth on his fingers now, and Harry breaks the kiss only so he can look at Louis’ face like this, his flushed cheeks and parted lips. “Lou?”

“’m ready.” Louis immediately replies.

Harry smiles. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Fuck. Okay, but please just fuck me now anyway.”

Harry laughs quietly against Louis’ lips as he presses in a third finger to the sound of Louis’ moans. “No, Lou. Don’t want to just fuck you. I’m in love with you. I was the first time we did this, but you didn’t know it. I want you to remember this instead, me being inside you and in love and you knowing it.”

His finger rubs against Louis’ prostate, and Louis lets out a shout. “Fuck! Got it! Okay, yes! Yes! We’re in love! Please just—“

Harry feels the words tear right through him. They’re in love. They are. And now he feels as impatient as Louis to be inside him. He tears open a condom and slicks himself up and braces himself on either side of Louis’ body. He stares into the blue depths of his heart as he slides slowly inside Louis and stills. “We’re in love.” Harry says it in awe.  He repeats it again. “We’re in love.” He says it over and over as his body moves inside Louis’ first in a slow rhythm until they’re both panting and frantic. Louis pulls him closer and he relents, pressing his face into Louis’ neck as he holds him in place, moving at a faster and faster pace until Louis is coming between their bodies, hearing and feeling his pleasure enough to push Harry over the edge.

///

Louis opens his eyes slowly. Early morning daylight has made its way through his bedroom window illuminating Harry’s soft curls spread across Louis’ chest and the stark whiteness of the pillow. Emotion wells up in his throat as he tightens his hold on the boy in his arms. His boy. His Harry. Harry snuffles a bit and murmurs some nonsense words against Louis’ chest, and Louis drifts back off to sleep, a drowsy smile on his face.

They’re in love.


	12. Epilogue

_Four and a half years ago..._

An autumn wind puts a bit of chill in the air, and Liam is glad that he’s worn a jumper despite it being early September. He whistles a happy tune to himself as he makes his way towards the bus stop closest to he and Zayn’s flat. It’s only a short ride to Louis’ new place, and he’s hit with a wave of gratitude that they actually make enough money as songwriters to not live three people to a one bedroom flat anymore. He’s sure Louis is glad to be done with sleeping on his sofa.

Liam knocks briefly against the door to Louis’ flat. He hears a frantic scuffle of feet before the door is flung open. Louis stands there, his hair rumpled and only in a t-shirt and pants. “You planning on wearing any jeans today, Lou? Think you might make a better impression that way. Maybe that’s just me though.”

“Oh, piss off.” Louis says with a grin as he lets him into the small flat, still littered with packed boxes. “I may have overslept. A bit.”

He eyes Louis as he struggles to pull his tight jeans up his body. “Think those might be a bit small for you, mate.”

“Shut your mouth. I look incredible in these. If I can just get them up—over—my—arse. ” He watches Louis hop around pulling the jeans upwards inch by inch.

“Any luck finding a roommate yet? Not that they’d have room to move in with all these boxes.” Liam pokes one open and shakes his head. The box is filled with an assortment of things: books, silverware, a framed photo of Louis with his brother, a few pairs of socks, and a small pillow. Liam hears Louis curse whilst trying to find his shoes amidst the chaos. He sighs and dutifully finds an empty drawer in the small kitchen to put the silverware in.

“Oi, Li. What if I wanted those in a different drawer?”

Liam rolls his eyes. To be honest, he’s not surprised Louis has packed by just tossing random things into a box. “They’d never get put anywhere most likely. These are just forks and knives. No idea what you’ve done with the spoons.”

“No, you really should not be surprised at my genius after all these years.”

“How is this genius?” he asks as he sets the framed photo up on a table. He puts the small pillow on the sofa next to it.

“Well, you know how when you move there’s always something you can’t find? Like you’ve packed all your bowls in one box, and then you can’t find that box, and then fuck you’re without bowls until you find the correct box. This way there’s a little of something in every box!”

Liam shakes his head again as he arranges the books into the bookcase. “So now everything is lost instead of just one item. Got it.”

“Ah, fuck off. I got my jeans and shoes on now. Let’s go meet the lad.”

He and Louis step onto the bus and make their way across London to meet up with the new artist signed by the label that hired them for Ed’s album. He can feel the pent up energy radiating off of Louis, and he tries to distract him as best he can before the incessant drumming of Louis’ fingertips against the seat drives them all mad. “Hey, Lou. Remember when we first met up with Ed?”

“Yes. I think I got food poisoning from that shitty pub he met us at.”

Liam smiles. “Don’t think it had anything to do with the food, Lou. I think it may have been all the shots the two of you drank that night.”

Louis makes a rude noise, but he smiles back at him. “Maybe,” Louis concedes.

“Wonder what this Harry is like,” Liam muses aloud. “We got pretty damn lucky with Ed as our first artist.”

“Nah, mate. It was all us. It’ll always be us, Payno. Has been since the day you taught me to play guitar. How old were we? Thirteen?”

“Something like that. We definitely have something special together, mate.” He gives Louis a grin and claps him on the back. Louis’ fingers have stopped their drumming, and now he’s reminiscing about Ed, so Liam knows he’s cleared out some of Louis’ nerves.

There’s some nice sunshine today as they walk towards the pub where they’re meeting the new artist. Harry Styles. Sounds like a great name for a star.  Liam walks with his face to the sky for a moment and lets himself feel the excitement, maybe with a little nervousness mixed in. He really hopes they’ll all be a good fit for one another, that they can make some great music together.

They’ve seen his headshot, but that’s all. Fresh faced, curly hair. That’s not quite who greets them though.

There’s a tall lad near the back striding towards them. A white t-shirt and tight jeans. Visible tattoos down one arm. Curls swept off his face with a wide dimpled smile. His smile makes Liam want to smile. He’s quite charmed, and the boy hasn’t even opened his mouth yet. This is a good sign. A very good sign. If he can sing, they can definitely work with this. He steps forward to shake the boy’s outstretched hand. “Hi, you must be Harry. I’m Liam, and this is my songwriting partner, Louis.”

He turns as Harry greets Louis, and Liam watches as the oddest thing happens. Louis is blushing. Honest to god blushing. Liam has known Louis Tomlinson since they were five years old, and he has never seen Louis’ face turn this particular shade of pink. Honestly, he didn’t think he’d see the day Louis could even feel embarrassment the way other people did, but apparently that day has come. And what is this? Harry is shaking Louis’ hand for far too long to be normal. In fact, Louis appears to be trying to remove his hand from Harry’s tight grip, but he isn’t successful.

“Hi, Louis, I’m happy to meet you. I’m very glad you and Liam have agreed to meet with me. I’m a huge fan of your songs.”

Liam watches with amusement. Harry may have said his name, but he is certainly not looking at him. Harry looks dazzled as though he’s seen a star shoot across the night sky. Well then. Louis murmurs a thank you, and Liam is quite plainly shocked at the sound. Louis is murmuring. He’s fairly certain he’s never heard Louis speak quietly a day in his life. This is very interesting. Liam can’t help the grin that is spreading across his face. He lets his mirth show; no one is looking at him anyway.

They talk music and eat and drink long into the day. Liam knows they’ll all leave this pub thinking the three of them have made a connection. Hopefully, it’s one that will provide a basis for songwriting, but Liam feels like he’s just watched the first spark of a wildfire. It’s already burning green and blue.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave me kudos and/or comments if you liked it! (See??? There was a happy ending at the end of it!) [Here is the rebloggable post for tumblr and if you reblog it I will love you forever.](http://allwaswell16.tumblr.com/post/160264755441/allwaswell16-looking-through-you-by#notes) Come talk to me anytime on tumblr as I love to talk to people! 
> 
> Silvia, thank you for choosing my fic to make amazing art. You can't know what it has meant to me to see the things I wrote be brought to life in that way. I'm glad this fic also brought me a friend. Please let @melmanpur know how much you loved her manips! xx
> 
> Taggiecb, I couldn't write a thing without you. Thank you for helping me at every turn as I go. <3  
> yousopugly, thank you for Brit picking and all your encouragement that I'm getting better with my Britishness (except when I try to write UK uni fics ahaha) and also for all the proofreading you do for me as we go! <3  
> Molly, thank you for reading it for me when I was nervous and then figuring out what was wrong with it when I couldn't. I love the prologue that is now the epilogue. lol. <3  
> Jacky, I'm so grateful that you offered to help me at the end and helped me figure out the missing pieces to make the story work better, which is why you get to be Harry's PA in the prologue. Because without you there would not have been one. ahaha. <3 
> 
> To the Squadron, thank you as always for your inspiration and love. Thank you to my fellow Wordplay writers who have brought me so much joy and support. Thank goodness I signed up for that challenge! Also, thank you to those of you writing with me in our writing parties for all your encouragement as I wrote this. ily all! xx


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